


Sorrow has a Human Heart

by RainbowSheltie



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Blood Magic, Chronic Illness, Drama, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Friends to Lovers, HP: EWE, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Manipulation, Not Epilogue Compliant, Parseltongue, Romance, Slytherin Harry, Trust Issues
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-07-20
Updated: 2015-09-09
Packaged: 2018-04-10 05:22:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 27,646
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4378868
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RainbowSheltie/pseuds/RainbowSheltie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <em>"Magic folk can't be trusted, Harry," Petunia's voice echoed in his mind. "Devious, the lot of them. They'll only use you for personal gain. Are those the kinds of people you want to associate with?"</em>
</p>
<p>"Just to be clear, I am <em>not</em> your friend or your date." Harry's eyes never left Draco's silver-grey ones. "Right now, we are helping each other—an exchange. I want someone to help show me around and to talk to about this new magical community and you want to spend time with me. Never trust<em> anyone</em> outside your family unit. That's how this works."</p>
<p>Another head tilt from Draco and another expression Harry couldn't read. </p>
<p>"Yeah, that's okay. For now, I'll accept that." Draco held out his hand again. Harry took it for another quick shake. "I'll change your mind, and I know you'll give me the world to do it because I can read you <em>better</em> than you can read me. Or yourself. But it doesn't matter right now because we have Quidditch books to look for and I need to explain to you what the sport is all about."</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Magic Begets Corruption

**Author's Note:**

> **Beta** : TheSupernova
> 
> **Side Note #1** : My primary language is American-English, so the "feel" of the story will be American but I know a few words of British-English. The language will be dominantly American, with a few British words scattered herein. Take it or leave it. 
> 
> Oh, and Harry Potter swears. A lot. I make no apologies for that. :D
> 
> **Side Note #2** : I've taken liberties with the outside of the Leaky Cauldron, the half facing muggle London. I basically made it feel more "medieval" because that's kinda the impression I got from the interior of the building. Oh, and only magic folk can see it so if any muggle wants to enter, they have to be accompanied by a witch/wizard (as I'm assuming that's how all magically-hidden buildings might work). Honestly, I just wanted to make it look more interesting. So. There you go.

__

* * *

_Whoever is careless with the truth in small matters cannot be trusted with important matters.  
_ _\- Albert Einstein_

* * *

_"You think we're horrible?" Petunia's sharp voice whispered to him through what sounded like gritted teeth. He couldn't see her through the locked closet door. "We treat you with the decency and respect you deserve; we don't hide our motives from you. You see us as we are, and we are no different from every other family out there. It's the nice ones, the ones who think they can be your friends, you can't trust."_

_Petunia huffed, spitting her words in anger. "Magic folk can't be trusted, Harry. That community of theirs, they think you're special but that's not true, is it? People use each other, although you won't always be able to see it. If you were a good boy, like Dudley, we wouldn't have to discipline you but it's your magic, you see? It can't be trusted. Don't trust anything you see or hear."_

* * *

There are two types of boys in any family unit. Those who are obedient, born to serve the family needs, and those who are free. The good boys who get what they want, spoilt and headstrong. Always craving more. Greedy. Dudley, his cousin, is an example of the latter.

Harry has never particularly cared for people like his cousin, but neither does he hate them. He's never envied that type, although he will occasionally admit to wishing he had been born that type of boy. As it is, wishing will do no good, and it's best to accept and emerge yourself in the role you were handed. This is how the world is supposed to work, though it doesn't extend to every family dynamic (as the shows and movies on TV have long since proven). Those family units are the abnormal kind which is why they are shown so frequently in the media; mainly for the entertainment value. Watching those units make fools of themselves, in both a private and public setting is not only embarrassing (for them) but humorous (to him), because they embrace and encourage such disgraceful (clownish) behavior.

Harry would never engage in such behavior in public, insisting on going against social norms, not even _attempting_ to fit in. Of course, some of the boys are like Dudley or himself, but it’s always mixed in with the black sheep children.

Everyone seems to have one of _those_ in their family unit (immediate and/or extended). Hell, they are such problem children that Harry is glad they aren't present in _his_ unit. He has enough to deal with without having to worry about the troublemakers of the family. Horrible black sheep, them.

"The hardware and garden storehouse will be delivering the fertilizer for the yard today. We'll be out for the day as Dudley needs some new clothes and I don't want to miss the delivery. I'll leave money for a tip on the table," Petunia said, not bothering to address him directly. She was busy making tea, adding the proper amount of sugar and lemon. It was strange to see his aunt making her own tea; that was normally his job. "Our yard needs to be fertilized before I order some new plants; summer is coming, and I'm considering entering the local garden contest this year."

Harry ran back to his closet, directing his attention to his erasable monthly planner. Grabbing the pen from the top of the board, he added a note to watch for the delivery man (or woman) so he wouldn't forget.

"I'll have to hold off watering the garden until after I'm done," he said absently, adding a small note about the tip, in case he forgot. "I'll try to finish it by tonight."

Petunia took her tea to the living room, placing it on the coffee table before making herself comfortable on the couch. "You'll have three days to get it done, which should be enough time. Do it in sections, I want at least part of the garden watered."

Done with the calendar, he put the pen back and walked over to the kitchen sink. The delicate dishes needed to be cleaned by hand, but most of them could go in the dishwasher. "The wheelbarrow still needs its wheel fixed, and I don't think I'll be able to carry the bags very far on my own."

She started flipping through the TV channels as she talked. "We'll order a new one from the store and have the delivery man bring it over with the fertilizer. They said he'll be here around 2pm, which is why I'm giving you an extra day because I doubt he'll be here on time. I just hope he gets here before dark."

"The idiots never keep proper time," Vernon said as he walked down the stairs. He headed for the living room couch. "Don't know why they're always late. We're paying them enough. You think they would treat their customers with better manners."

Harry looked around, eyes landing on the freezer. He'd need to defrost some meat tonight, though he's not sure what they want him to make for dinner tomorrow. Was there anything else he needed to ask before they left? He couldn't think of anything, but knowing his luck, it'd come to him as their car was backing out of the driveway.

"Do you want steak or pork chops for tomorrow's dinner? It'll need defrosting, unless you want to pick up something fresh from the store."

Vernon whispered to his wife before making his decision. "The prime rib. Baked potatoes, corn on the cob and we'll be picking up a fresh pie from the bakery."

Having the prime rib meant he'd need to clean the grill, and dig out the Hickory firewood from the shed. It was a large shed, and he wasn’t sure where he put it; the last time he used the grill was August, last year. Fuck. Speaking of firewood, he was pretty sure they're running low on lighter fluid. If memory served, he meant to tell them months ago, but in putting away the grill for the winter, he had totally forgotten.

"We're running low on lighter fluid. Sorry, I forgot to mention it sooner. Maybe they can add it to the delivery order?" Harry paused. Maybe she wanted him to order it from the store himself? He can call them (he's done it before). "Should I call the store?"

There was an extended pause before she answered. "No, I'll do it. Just focus on finishing your chores before the delivery gets here."

Another busy day. He'd also need something for his muscles tonight. Harry had no doubt he'd be hurting by the time he went to bed (no doubt he'd have the fertilizer bags to thank for that). Thank god they gave him a personal medkit for his cupboard. It included (among the basics) a jar of rubbing cream and a bottle of ibuprofen. He wasn't allowed to ask for things he wanted (unlike Dudley) so he had suffered for months before working up the courage to confront his aunt and uncle (and at the risk of punishment) for the rubbing cream (which worked wonders to relax his muscles).

Items to restock his medkit were the only things he was allowed to ask for. Often times, they would give him his preferred brand of medication, which surprised him (because he'd never imagined them catering to his wishes like that). They never indulged him besides, so he coveted each bottle, bandaid, alcohol wipe, bandage wrap and pain cream he ever got. He made sure to use each and every last drop (relatively speaking). It was like a private birthday and Christmas celebration; it was kind of fun, though unnecessary.

Present giving holidays (or birthdays) didn't faze him as important. He didn't deserve to celebrate them, nor did he care; he couldn’t see the appeal, but only _good_ boys get presents. Harry found he was happy enough helping out by taking on more chores, a stronger "workload". It kept him busy enough that he didn't have time for anything else.

* * *

Everyone has an ulterior motive in wanting to befriend you; his aunt had proven that many times over. Harry lost track of the number of representations in regards to his neighbors alone (the remaining examples directed towards school, peers, businesses and the occasional stranger).

Petunia had shown him the art of peaking through the blinds to spy on his neighbors, and the best ways to eavesdrop when working the yard. His aunt relied on him to help keep watch; after all, if you don't know what the people close to you really want, then you can't protect yourself from getting hurt or taken advantage of.

It was an important lesson to learn. He'd seen his family use the misappropriated information to their advantage, resulting in many beneficial payoffs. Information gathering he was actually good at, although Harry had no desire to indulge in the resulting manipulative pastime—according he was allowed the freedom to actively use the begotten information (to suit his own purposes).

Harry had practiced in front of the mirror before, just to see his potential game face, and quite honestly it wasn’t actually that bad. It might come in handy one day, when he was older and living on his own. At the moment, he had no use for that skill and it's just as well. His innate ability at reading people's expressions and emotions _really_ _sucked_ , and without that, there was no point in engaging anyone with a verbal game of cat and mouse.

* * *

When it comes to ulterior motives, there is no greater threat than those that call themselves your _friends_. There is no such thing as _trust_ in this context because everyone has something they want from you; things they hide, using a mask to cover their true motivations. Trust means letting your guard down, and faith? Everyone has their weaknesses. Things they are willing to betray for, to squeal you out, it’s just a matter of time. The world is full of fools and magicians.

During school, Dudley had taken the time to explain and to show that friendship is nothing more than a facade.

_"Friendship means trust. Trust means loyalty. Loyalty means sacrificing yourself; willingly taking the place of your ‘friend’ so they don't get hurt. When loyalty—trust—is tested, it fails. If you had to choose between two of your ‘best’ friends, both trusting you to stand by their side, who would you chose?”_

_"Trust is evanescent; fleeting. Choosing one over the other—what were the motives behind that? Was it revenge on the person you turned your back on? Was it a test to see where your_ loyalties _truly lie? Don't trust anyone. Use them, instead. It's an exchange. You do something for them, and they own you in return. Or maybe you use and leave them when they are inconvenient. I can save you from their machinations._

Dudley never seemed the quick witted, sneaky, underhanded type at home but seeing him in action at school—now that Harry knew what to look for; it was impressive how he handled his peers. Sometimes Dudley pretended to be a friend, other times more of a bully but either way, he was in control.

And Harry would prefer to avoid that social mess altogether; he lacked the finesse or diplomacy, the tact for subtle or forthright verbal sparring.

Harry's further observations of his peers solidified his cousin’s words and thank god Dudley was willing to chase those fuckers off. He found himself enjoying the moments of solitude within the crowd; here, he was able to do as he pleased. Here, he was free of all his chores and expectations, able to relax and be himself. Most of the time it was spent in the library reading various fiction books instead of studying (just because he knew he could get away with it). Besides, reading was totally more interesting than his textbooks.

He asked early on for Dudley's help in the matter, and his cousin was all too eager to oblige and thank god because this way, he didn’t need to do anything and Dudley seemed to be enjoying the bullying ways all too much. Dudley seemed to be enjoying himself, chasing people away from him and he grinned because making his family unit happy, that was his job.

* * *

Harry was eight when Petunia told him about his magical heritage, and the reality—the truth—behind his parent’s death. She had sat him on the couch, switching between restless pacing and being fidgety on the seat cushion beside him.

"They... didn't die in a car crash," she began, refusing to look him in the eye. "That was a lie we told you until we felt you were ready for the truth. Ready to hear just how... _abnormal_ you really are."

Harry listened with rapt attention. This was under the category of _things he needed to know_. He wasn't particularly upset they lied to him about how they passed; he never knew his biological parents. They were strangers to him. Harry already _had_ a family unit and he loved them. Still, that didn't mean he wasn't curious. His aunt was obviously upset about something. But why did she say he was abnormal? What was wrong with him? Shit. This wasn't a good sign.

So his aunt told him everything she knew. Words like magic, corruption and malignant jumped out at him. Magic? Surely that wasn't how it sounded. Real magic? _Seriously_?

But yes, it was very real. Harry could remember times throughout the years, when strange things happened to him. Glasses of water exploding, flowers suddenly blooming in the dead of winter, or the sudden column of rain last year that followed a particular group of boys that had been bullying him during between classes, when Dudley wasn't around. Specifically, the rain had been following the boys around _inside the building_. Luckily, it only lasted a minute or two, but seeing as how the sky had been a cloudless blue, the boys had gotten in trouble for lying (about the rain) and promptly sent home to dry up and get a fresh change of clothes.

Magic that was out of control.

"Magic folk aren't like us," she said, sitting down next to him. She took his hands. "I know you can't help how you were born, but I know you'll do your best to act _normal_. To be accepted into society. Magic gives them limitless power, to control and dominate us against our will, and slowly rots your soul. It's inevitable. Do you want to lose your soul?"

Harry shook his head. She let go of his hands. "Is there anything I can do to stop it?"

"Learn how to control that magic of yours. Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry is meant to teach you control; you'll see soon enough how easy it is to fall under their... _spell_. It won't be obvious at first, but if you integrate yourself into their culture, you'll find the truth. Treacherous and unscrupulous; every one of them believe they are better than the rest of us. Can you imagine?"

"What do you want me to do?" he asked, worried.

His aunt grinned. "Use their magic against them while you are away, and when you graduate you can return to a more dignified lifestyle. Shunning magic—refusing to give in, that's the true test. You can _resist them_. Do that and you'll have a chance at a normal life."

"I can do it, aunt Petunia. I won't let them—or _it—_ eat me."

Harry received a gracious nod in return. "You have time to prepare yourself. Never let down your guard; their motives won't always be clear to you at first. _Be prepared_."

No one suspected he was a wizard, and as much as Harry wished he could refuse the Hogwarts invitation, his magic was perilous and it would only be a matter of time before his magic exposed him for what he was. _Abnormal_.

Yet a part of him—the magic part, Harry suspected—was overtly curious about Hogwarts and its magical society. What made them so different? What was it about magic that was so addicting? Despite the loathing ingrained in him, he still really, _really_ wanted to see magic up close and even dabble a bit, feel what it meant to wield true magic. Not like the trickster magicians with their visual illusions and sleight of hand.

His aunt began pacing again, back and forth in front of the TV. She took long, deep breaths before continuing. "The wizard who killed your parents, his magic had turned dark and corrupt. His soul had completely rotted away. He killed anyone in his path who didn't follow him but before he turned, he was one of the most powerful wizards in the world."

"They'll all turn, sooner or later," Harry said, beginning to realize the danger, the full picture of what his future held. "The only people who would follow him were probably magic folk or magic sympathizers, right?"

"You're beginning to understand," Petunia responded, nodding. "I don't know why he went after your parents, but I do know they died for you, to save you. You are magical, Harry. Your parents were magic and you—you probably have more power than you realize. Like that dark wizard."

"Ugh. Selfish, thinking I would _want_ to side with the magic folk and their dark ways." He was disgusted with himself. "I'm glad the dark wizard was stopped, though, before everything was destroyed."

"If it were up to the magical community, they would prefer to be the ones in power, taking our place. Magic would be _everywhere_." They both shuddered. "The world would be left a circus; a freak show."

Petunia lowered her voice to a whisper, as if her neighbors might overhear this blasphemic talk. Harry admired the precaution, since he had no doubt some of his neighbors’ ears were burning right now.

"You see, it all started when my parents found out my sister had _magic_. So proud of a witch in the family. They were magic-sympathizers, you see, and thought the world of her. Never mind the normal folk; they embraced her magic, incorporated the magical community and all they stood for into their lives. They never cared about fitting it; shunning normal society. Selfish, isn't it? Not wanting to be normal. That only causes chaos."

The stories of his mother only solidified the barbarity and consequences that came along with practicing magic. Wizards and witches thinking they were _better_ than everyone else, knowing they could do things that went against the laws of nature, of everything _normal_. Even nature makes mistakes sometimes, and magic was one of them.

"Your mother... the last news I heard of her when she was alive was sad indeed. She was still family, and I didn't wish for her death; I never wished to see her magic slowly eating away her soul and I do not want to see that happen to you." She sat down again, twisting the fabric of her skirt, anxious. "We're glad we got to you first, and were able to raise you in proper society. You've been given the chance to be like us."

Harry sighed morosely. "I'm not good enough to be like you, I won't ever be."

"Mmm." A wordless agreement. Her comforting words were hollow, but Harry appreciated the attempt all the same.

"I can't do anything about the magic, but at least I can _try_ to be normal, like you. I'll learn from her mistakes. Magic is a _crime_ ," he said, because that was the truth. He wouldn't deny it, even if it meant incriminating himself in the process.

"Exactly," she responded, proud of him.

Harry nodded and watched as she walked to the kitchen and started preparing her tea, filling the kettle with water. He could survive seven years and when it was time, he would throw away everything he owned, things he acquired that remained as a reminder of a life he didn't want. Sooner or later he would be free to walk away and never return.

* * *

The day finally came when Harry received his letter from Hogwarts. He was both excited and dismayed. In one aspect, he really was curious to see _real_ magic because the concept in itself was _fascinating_. No matter how evil it may be, he couldn't help wanting to learn as much as he could. This would be his only chance, after all, so he might as well make the best of it (it's called giving into temptation). Things could go back to normal after Hogwarts (only seven years!) and in a way, Harry was also impatient to finally graduate because he wanted to be normal (like everyone else).

Vernon wasn't all too happy about the whole thing, but he knew it was for the best. Even Dudley understood that. They dropped him four blocks away from the Leaky Cauldron, afraid to be seen anywhere near the place (Harry didn't blame them). Unfortunately, it had taken them almost two hours to find the damn place (which was twice as long as it should have been) but they'd only been there once so you really couldn't blame them for getting lost.

"Only magic folk can see it," Vernon said, exasperated. "Secretive lot. At least they know enough to hide them from the rest of proper society. I can't imagine what a bloody eyesore it would be if we had to look at _them_ and their freaky buildings all day long. Watching them do _magic_. It's unnatural."

Harry assumed uncle Vernon was either generalizing about what the buildings might have looked like, or Petunia had related some stories she heard from her parents or her sister.

"I've only been here once," Petunia added. "I used to know the area well, but it's been a while; my parents lived nearby at the time, but since I moved out it’s become quite out of the way now."

They stopped over near the curb in front of the cheese shoppe. His aunt called out to him just before he stepped out. "Oh, and remember, we'll be downtown in the shopping district, buying new clothes for Dudley. Call us where you're done and we'll drop you off at the station afterwards. Keep an eye on the time; you don't want to miss your train."

They drove off and left Harry to find the Leaky Cauldron on his own. It was supposed to be a straight path to the Leaky Cauldron; the sign was hard to miss. It hung straight out on a pole, attached to a swinging, old wooden sign. The wood was cracked and creaking as it swung gently in the wind.

The building front had an arch top door, grey bricks making up the walls from the door top downwards. Above them the walls were plain white, reaching to the roof. It feet almost medieval in style, an old fashioned pub. Harry could see why it was hidden; it would never have fit in with the modern buildings around it.

Upon entering, he wasn't surprised it matched in style of the building front. A hanging chandelier swung by a hefty chain, attached to a large, hollowed metal ring with lit candles spaced a foot or two apart. The pub was lit mainly by a huge window stretching from the floor to the ceiling. Torches lined the walls and old paintings with—were those pictures _moving_? People walked from frame to frame, and he quickly looked away. _That_ would take some getting used to. Creepy.

Otherwise, it was thick, wooden tables and similar beer steins. He doubted they all contained ale or beer, because none of the patrons—other than the ones near the bar and its surrounding tables—were intoxicated (if the children drinking from the mugs were any indication). Half of the pub, where the sunlight didn't quite reach, the tables lit by candles placed in standing torches, held _shady_ looking people, dressing in large black cloaks or rough, leather or dark, questionable outfits fit for thieves or the underground, blackmail types. Whisperings filled his ears if he looked too long, and many looked jittery and nervous, or the exact opposite—calm, dominant, and assured of their plight in whatever dealings were being made.

The other half, however, contained the upstanding citizens; the proper type (if the magic folk could be called "proper" in any sense) and were the exact opposite; friendly, open and standing in the light of the window, which reached all the way towards the back of the pub.

A lit fireplace sat off to the side, a roaring fire making the air about it warm, and welcoming. Couches and armchairs sat nearby, filled with animated people laughing and talking, unconcerned with who overheard them.

Harry had no idea where to start; he could ask the bartender, but that area unsettled him, so he decided to try for one of the waitresses or waiters. Before he could get very far a tall, giant man with a long, dark brown and shaggy beard and approached him. His air was just as bushy and thick. Harry was scared at first, the man didn't look too welcoming kindly. Harry narrowed his eyes as the man approached.

"Are ya' lost?" The man asked. A gentle giant, if Harry had to describe him and he released a breath. The man grinned at him pleasantly.

Might as well go for the truth; he had nothing to lose. As this person didn't feel overly threatening, so he decided to be honest. He had nothing to lose, because there were people who might not be so friendly.

"I'm told the entrance for Diagon Alley is around here somewhere? I'm trying to get my school supplies, but have no idea where I'm going," Harry asked, cautiously.

"Ah! A first year, then, right?" Hagrid asked, and Harry nodded. "My name is Hagrid." He reached out a large hand, and Harry took it after a moment's hesitation. "I'm the keeper of keys and caretaker of the Hogwarts grounds, and a professor. I teach the Care of Magical Creatures."

Hagrid let go and Harry took that as his cue to finish the introductions.

"My name is Harry Potter." He said, taking a moment to look around for any eavesdroppers. None so far, but these were also _magic_ folk so you could never tell what they were capable of.

"My goodness, Harry Potter!" Hagrid boomed and yeah, _now_ people were eavesdropping. Even the creepy, shady looking people. He was the dead center of attention. _Glorious_ , he thought sarcastically. _Just glorious_.

"You're exactly the person I was wanting to see! I should have known it was you," Hagrid said. "You were the only boy I've seen entering alone. I hoped it might be you. Well, come this way then, there are people who'll be wanting to meet you!"

After introductions to few Hogwarts professors (and a few others who felt it their duty to come up, shake his hand, and proceed to ramble some awe-inspired drivel) Harry was finally able to escape their attention, thanks to Hagrid ushering him out towards the back alley, towards a magical brick wall. Hagrid used his umbrella to tap a rhythmic pattern on the bricks and it opened up, each brick moving off towards either side. Diagon Alley greeted them.

Harry was led down the main throughway, straight to the tall, white building; it towered over the area similar to Big Ben, although it wasn't _quite_ that tall. They arrived at Gringott's bank, an odd place run by goblins, of all things. This bank held underground vaults, accessible only by an ominous looking flat cart, sliding down a railway with wooden bucket seats up front. Harry was magnanimously offer one of the seats, while the Hagrid took the other. The goblin was obviously the driver, standing behind him. 

The first vault, 713, was Hagrid's, Harry assumed, taking a small, bagged package before they were ushered off the vault 687, which belonged to his parents (which now belonged to him). The door was just as tall as the inside of the vault, its height dwarfing even Hagrid (who Harry estimated was about 10' or 11' tall). A pile of gold coins rose 3/4 of the vault and it was _awesome_. He had never seen that much money before. The goblin mentioned the exchange rate between wizarding and muggle currency and yeah, turns out Harry Potter was very, astonishingly rich.

While he had vowed at some point to leave this magical community in favor of returning to the _muggle_ world, if he exchanged it for pounds, then no one would ever know it had once been wizarding Galleon, Knuts and Sickles. Harry was handed a small sack to hold his coins.

Upon returning to the ground floor, once they left through the main doors they were set upon by a large brown owl with white spots who dropped a letter into Hagrid's hands before flying on its way. Harry had seen a few owls scattered throughout Diagon Alley who carried post ranging from rolled up scrolls, envelopes to large brown packages (at one point, he had seen three owls overhead carry a particularly large one). The Owl Post. It was brilliant and definitely more interesting than the local postman.

"Looks like this is where I leave you, Harry. Sorry about tha'," Hagrid sighed, folding the letter and placing it into his pocket. "I have some, uh... important matters to attend to elsewhere." Hagrid patted the pocket containing that mysterious package taken from his vault. "Dumbledore is wanting ta see me immediately about something. I know you haven't been here before, but if you just stay in the area, it’s a straight shot between here and the pub and the shoppes shouldn't be too hard to find. You’ll be fit as long as ya don' go down any side streets."

"No problem, Hagrid," Harry responded. He had no intention of wandering off and it was sensible advice besides. He needed to leave through the pub regardless, to meet his family a few blocks over so it would be better to keep it in sight.

Before Hagrid turned to leave, he dug out two small slips of paper from his pocket. "I almost forgot, I got you a birthday present. It's a snowy owl, since you'll be wanting a pet. Very useful if you ask me, since they can also deliver your post, unlike a toad or a feline." He handed the paper to Harry. It was a receipt, with his name scrawled on the back. "Just go into the Eeylops Owl Emporium, jus' down there."

Hagrid motioned vaguely towards the shops before them. "Hand this over to the one of the staff an' they'll fetch yer bird. He's a nice one, and healthy; I checked him out myself."

Harry was handed the second slip of paper; it was a train ticket to platform 9-3/4. What the bloody hell?

"Stick to your ticket, Harry. The entrance is hidden inside one of the columns but don't worry, it's easy enough to figure out. You can't miss it."

With that, Hagrid walked off.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Side Note #3** : I've always imagined Harry having more issues having grown up with an abusive family. As it is, the only "real" problems he suffers from (that I've noticed in the books) are thus: no friends or presents, and ill-fitted clothes. Staying so obstinate and stubborn, refusing to be broken by his horrible relatives; he's very Gryffindor in that sense.
> 
> I wanted to write a story where his relatives were more successful in _controlling_ Harry, and I kept thinking that subtle manipulation under the guise of "loving" him was an interesting concept. Just like Draco, who was raised believing in pureblood superiority, Harry was raised to hate anything related to the magical community.
> 
> And if Harry were to meet Draco in Diagon Alley for the first time, with a less _noble_ attitude concerning friendship and trust, what would happen? In a sense, they are very similar in how they grew up so it’s a different, but interesting dynamic. 
> 
> **Side Note #4** : The FF title is taken from the song _Sleeping Sun_ by Nightwish.


	2. Pocketful of Money, Bookstores Full of Books

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry is a chic fashionista and meets a blonde stranger.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Beta** : TheSupernova
> 
>  **Side Note #1** :  
> U.S. Football = U.S. Football  
> U.K. Football (or Footie) = U.S. Soccer
> 
> All football teams, their mascots or players herein are entirely fictional.
> 
>  **Side Note #2** : See if you can find the Dr. Who easter egg I slipped into the story ~ :3

_Be a loner. That gives you time to wonder, to search for the truth. Have holy curiosity. Make your life worth living.  
_ _\- Albert Einstein_

* * *

_"I almost forgot, I got you a birthday present. It's a snowy owl. Just go into the Eeylops Owl Emporium, jus' down there." Hagrid motioned vaguely towards the shops before them. "Hand this over to one of the staff an' they'll fetch yer bird. He's a nice one, and healthy; I checked him out myself."_

* * *

Harry had never known the date of his birth (which was apparently this week, though Hagrid didn't specify a date), as his station meant he didn't deserve it. Add magic into the mix, and it made him less worthy of a birthday gift. His birth was nothing to be proud of, or to be celebrated, so Harry became immediately suspicious of Hagrid's "birthday" gift.

This gift had another, hidden meaning; most likely because of Harry's celebrity status, since it was obvious Hagrid--and the rest of the magical community—were intimately familiar with it.

Hagrid didn't act like a crazed fan, like the others at the Leaky Cauldron, so Harry didn't know what to make of this whole birthday gift thing. Harry did need a pet so for now he'd let it slide. He'd have to remember to keep an eye on the giant later; it was impossible to keep one's motives hidden for long.

Regarding the pet, the supply list said he needed either an owl, a cat or a frog. It was a strange list, with limited options. All in all, the cat made sense and the frog was weird, but an honest to god owl? Owls were not pets. They were wild animals and wild animals did not do well in a domesticated environment. Perhaps those born in captivity were different? His unit never cared for pets. Harry decided to visit the owl pet shop last.

Another thought occurred to him—were these owls magical? Passing by the shop, they _looked_ normal enough, but he was wary about magical _everything_. A magical pet owl mail box. Odd thought.

The owls were definitely _hinky._ That's what.

Owl Emporium aside, the first stopover was the robe and clothing boutique. Despite how abnormal these folk were, Harry loved the robes and contemporary fashions being worn. The robes were a throwback to a different era but it fit within the whole magic concept and he was mildly impressed they managed to pull off the robe look without making it seem like a medieval costume of some sort.

Harry had never complained about his clothes before. He was happy with what he had, even though they were a few sizes too big. Since Dudley kept growing out of his clothes, his parents kept having to replace them every few weeks and being they refused to take Dudley anywhere except the finest clothing shoppes in London, meant Harry's clothes ended up being expensive, stylish and fitted. Fitted for his cousin anyway, but the fact of the matter was that despite being a bit big on him, they looked nice as far as modern London fashions went.

Plus, Harry had an entire wardrobe to choose from located in Dudley's old bedroom, piled in a heap at the bottom of the closet. For the most part, Harry's unit didn't want to parade him around in public looking like a dirty street urchin and this was the easiest way to solve the problem. Harry wasn't about to complain; he had fancy, tasteful clothes.

But the _pouch full of money_ in Harry's pocket was taunting him mercilessly because whether his family unit intended it or not, they created in Harry a modish and chic fashionista. He could now afford to buy everything he set his eyes on, and wasn't that a dangerous concept?

This would be the first time on his own and if there was one thing his unit taught him, it was to try and make a good first impression. London fashion was not the same as Diagon Alley fashion, so his wardrobe needed to be upgraded. Harry did feel somewhat guilty for wanting to buy his own fitted, trendy and haute fashion (it wasn't his place to buy things for himself) but what his family unit didn't know...

Upon entering the boutique, he was quite happy with what he saw. While meandering around the various racks and shelving units, he noticed everything was of pleasantly high quality and came in sizes that _fit_ Harry's body. In making the right impression, wearing the right clothes was half the battle.

Harry checked the supply list, looking around for a place to start.

All of the Hogwarts accessories and clothing on display had shimmery white accents (thin strips or bands) which had a magical air about them. Harry ran a finger across the accents; they felt like regular fabric, which was kind of disappointing. He thought they should have had some sort of tingly, magical feeling. That would have been cool.

"Those are where your house colors appear." A female staff member said, approaching him from behind. "They are blank now, and the magic spell embedded within the fabric is what's giving it that sort of iridescent quality. Once they are bought, the intended owner of the clothes—any current Hogwarts student—and they'll automatically re-colorize into your house colors. The color change is permanent. You're a first year, right?" Harry nodded. "Your uniforms won't change until the hat officially sorts you into your house; the new colors will appear immediately afterwards."

She pointed to an area where more of that shimmery white color could be seen, splattered across all sorts of items. "Those are the clothing and accessories intended to match your Hogwarts uniform. If you're buying things for school, that's the area you want look at." She pointed to another section, right next to it. "Those are the robes you'll need. We have plain robes, as well as some for summer and winter. Each have different spells woven into them. For example, the winter robes have a warming charm--the more expensive, the stronger the charm—and summer robes have magics to help keep you cool."

Harry took a few minutes gandering through the massive robe selections. The outer fabricswere black, but ranged in everything from cotton to a silky-like material, while the linings (in addition to the aforementioned) also included such things as wool, fleece, and extra thin materials (among others). The robes among the racks and walls had the more popular combinations, but you could also mix and match them, including special-order requests for fabric options they didn't offer. After waving down a nearby staff member, he finally took the fittings and spent a good half hour conversing over the best possible combinations. 

Besides the three primary school "work" robes, and a warm winter cloak (as per the supply list) Harry had them include a fine winter robe and a light summer one (with the strongest cooling charm he could find) to the mix.

He bought a few other basics as well; a mixed handful of button up and pull over shirts (long and short sleeved), a few different sweaters (and sweater vests), some fitted pants, a few shoes and a pair of boots that promised to be all-weather resistant with extra traction for "a job that needed to be done and done well" according to the advertisement. The boots would be perfect for tromping around in during the winter season. Harry even allowed himself to buy a few designer underwear, socks, and undershirts, two scarves, one silk tie and various styles of gloves (in addition to the requested "protective" pair).

As he was a Hogwarts student, they offered to deliver his packages directly to his dorm room, save for one uniform set he could change into on the train. Harry happily agreed because no way in hell was he about to drag all this crap around with him, not when he still had plenty items left unchecked on his list. Maybe he could get some of the bigger items (like the cauldron, telescope, brass scales, etc) to be delivered to Hogwarts as well? He was pretty sure his family unit would not appreciate being in the presence of so many magical items and besides, Harry had misgivings over whether all this stuff would fit in the boot of the car anyways.

Harry soon realized that temptation is a horrible, horrible master. He had already given into temptation over the cultural material aspect of this abhorred place (buying things he didn't need), mainly reasoning that giving in probably had more to do with being 11 years old than not. If he were older and more mature, more cemented in his beliefs, this might not be the case.

Whatever. All he had to do was hide his magical clothes and other items inside his trunk when at home.

They would just as well avoid snooping inside his _magical_ trunk. If they didn't see it, it didn't exist. Another interesting concept.

But he if was going to continually give into temptation, he might as well immerse himself without abandon while he could (resistance is futile). A short foray into a forbidden culture, as it were. He still dreamed of the day he could return to London proper, with its clothes shops befitting the society he was born to live and serve.

Once he graduated, Harry knew he would be leaving everything—clothes, toys, owls, wands—all behind him (inheritance excluded).

 _Seven years will go by quickly,_ he kept telling himself. _Embracing the magical culture, learning to fit into society--this new skill set will easily transfer to proper society._ This reasoning eased the guilt inside of him for going against everything he had been taught.

Harry wasn't sure how he was going to explain the owl he'd bring back for summer vacation. It was an _abnormal_ pet and wouldn't reflect well if anyone found out they were keeping an _owl_ inside the house.

Owls were for barnyards and forests, and _not_ kept as pets. Anyways, the owl would probably be happier spending his or her time outside in the woods somewhere, possibly coming back after dark for some treats and to spend some one-on-one time with him. Harry could always hide the cage in Dudley's spare bedroom when company came over so no one would be the wiser.

Regardless of how the owl felt about this arrangement, he or she would just have to suck it up. And Harry hoped to hell that the damn thing was potty trained because no pet of his was allowed to shit inside the house. Punishment would ensue and Harry liked to minimize the time he was locked in his closet, or have his food rations cut in half, and any number of other things he couldn't name right now. His family was actually quite creative in coming up with all sorts of crazy punishments and Harry couldn't help being impressed by quite a few of them. Mind, it didn't mean he _liked_ it.

* * *

Ollivanders. Harry found out the name and location of the wand shoppe from the tailor who had taken his robe measurements. He had been looking for it when a window display for a broom and sporting shoppe caught his attention.

Brooms? _Seriously_? These people played with _brooms_ for sport? Wasn't that a backwards, uncivilized concept? Was football too good for them? Harry was slightly disgusted by the idea of shunning a time-honored sport in favor of _cleaning supplies_ though he couldn't help but wonder why. Kids were gathered around the window display, and he heard things like "Quidditch" and "flying" which definitely perked his curiosity, despite himself.

He moved onto a window display for Slug & Jiggers Apothecary, a potion supply store located across the street. There were odd, unimaginable ingredients ranging from powders and liquids to exotic animal and plant parts (some of which he recognized, while other unknowns made him shudder). Alongside them were bottles of all shapes and sizes. This place held remnants which reminded him of the au natural ingredients shamans or witch doctors used; they specialized in creating natural remedies, designed to treat all sorts of human ailments.

Harry paused to wonder—would he be any good at making potions? Despite the weirdness of it all, it might be useful to become familiar with the basic concepts and learn how to create a few potions. Who knew what kinds of things these people could brew up in their cauldrons? Magic was dangerous, so knowing a little about potions might help create a better picture of the kinds of dangers the magical community possessed.

At school he had never been particularly interested in science but Harry wasn't going to discount potions just yet. All dangers aside, Harry wanted to take classes he liked, or the next seven years were going to be hell. It may actually be interesting for all he knew, once he got some hands on experience. He made a mental note to skim through his potions textbook before class to become more familiar with the subject.

A store called Flourish and Blotts caught his attention next; he still hadn't found Ollivanders but the bookstore was just as good.

_In a shop called Flourish and Blotts... the shelves were stacked to the ceiling with books as large as paving stones bound in leather; books the size of postage stamps in covers of silk; books full of peculiar symbols and a few books with nothing in them at all._

_\- Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone_

He waved off a staff member who offered to help; Harry liked reading and wanted to take a leisurely meander around before buying his textbooks. First stop: sports. He wanted to know what the fuck was up with those brooms and why those kids were talking about _flying_ like it was an actual thing one did outside of airplanes and movies. 

After almost fifteen minutes of searching—the bookstore was huge and bigger on the inside (like the Tardis)--he finally stumbled upon all manners of sporting activities. Harry barely had a look around the Quidditch section before a stranger decided it appropriate to initiate conversation. 

What was it with strangers thinking he wanted to talk to them? One doesn't usually come up to people they didn't know and make _friendly conversation_ , so what the actual fuck?

He immediately put up his guard; friendly meant they _wanted_ something and he was The Great Harry Potter. No one so far had seem to recognize him as he wandered through the streets, but Harry (or rather, Hagrid) had announced him to all and sundry inside the Leaky Cauldron so it was entirely possible his name and basic description had already begun to circle the metaphorical telephone lines.

Harry turned around to find a blonde boy standing before him.

"Looking for books on Quidditch?" the blonde asked. "I know the best books on history of the sport, and can definitely recommend a few that explain the basic positions and rules of an official match, if you're looking for a place to start."

"Do you work here?" Harry asked. The boy looked too young to be an employee here.

"Neh. I was here looking for some advanced books about the different Quidditch positions: tips, tricks, moves and other skills." The boy paused, seeming to backtrack and gave a sigh. "Okay, so I'm actually looking for the beginner to intermediate books, the ones which go into the specifics of each position like what to expect, how to play your part the best you can, etcetera. When I get to Hogwarts, I want to spend some of my free time practicing so I can get on the team next year. First years can't play on the Quidditch teams you know, otherwise I would try out this year. But since I have no idea what position I want to play--that's why I'm getting books covering every position--I guess it'd probably be better for me to try out next year anyways."

Overly friendly, this one. It was inane conversation. Normally Harry would have walked away by now, but this place had fucked up his guard.

Did he mention his current lack of inhibitions and _jangling pouch of very golden coins_ in his pocket? Seeingas how he was browsing for books unrelated to his supply list, he might as well indulge in a bit of conversation. It was bound to happen eventually so he might as well start somewhere.

 _These people can't be trusted_ , Harry silently recited. _Magic is dangerous._

Harry narrowed his eyes, studying the boy. He _looked_ harmless enough.

_"Magic folk can't be trusted, Harry." Petunia's voice echoed in his mind. "Devious, the lot of them. They'll only use you for personal gain; my sister is proof of that. She used her witch status on my parents to get what she wanted. All the attention and glory. She didn't want me to have anything; wanted to be an only child. Are those the kinds of people you want to associate with?"_

No, Harry was not going to associate with that type; it didn't matter how old or young the person was. His mother had been a child when her sister started causing discord within their own family unit. But Harry did need to know more about Hogwarts and the kinds of people he would be facing; the rules, ins and outs of society. Plus, it wouldn't hurt to have a shopping guide...

Now how to approach this conversation? He'd never done anything like this on his own before. Usually Dudley was nearby to help chase off his peers. Harry wasn't used to talking to them (and he preferred it that way).

Harry sighed. He wasn't adept at improv lying or manipulation to control the situation (like Dudley) and didn't know the best way to save face while politely attempting to disengage from the conversation. His notable lack of finesse would probably end up causing a scene and make him look like a bleedin' idiot in the process.

As first impressions go, when Harry said _wearing the right_ _clothes is half the battle_ he meant it, quite literally. Watching someone make a good impression, and _making_ a good impression are, unfortunately, two separate concepts.

Harry looked around, eyes scanning the book titles and wooden shelves, studying the different shades and lines marking the wood. Instinct told him to go with the truth; blunt and straight up honesty. Telling the truth had been instilled from birth, despite the lessons of deception and manipulation towards others. Harry released a breath. The truth was comfortable ground and gave him a boost of confidence. Decision made, he refocused his gaze and locked eye contact.

"What do you want with me?" Harry asked. "Why are you talking to me? People like you, so friendly with strangers and making such casual conversation. I've been warned about _magic_ , you know." He spat the word in revulsion. "I know the truth. Don't pretend like you want to be friends; just tell me what you came here for."

The boy looked taken aback, before bursting out laughing. He was shushed a moment later, and managed to quiet down. "Magic isn't so bad, if you use it correctly. It can be used for personal gain or humanitarian purposes. Don't group us all together like that."

This time it was Harry's turn to laugh. "Right. Magic corrupts. Ever heard the saying, 'absolute power corrupts absolutely’? It'll take time for it to happen, but make no mistake, we'll all end up like that dark wizard who killed my parents, who tried to rid to world of--of... well, everyone who didn't follow him, I suppose. Conquering the world. How long will it take for you to succumb?"

He was being stared at with a confused look. "Who are you?"

There was a tone to the voice which told Harry that the blonde already had a pretty good idea of who he was, but wanted confirmation of his suspicions.

"Harry Potter."

"That's what I thought..." The boy murmured, looking away. He looked back a moment later and held out his hand. "My name is Draco Malfoy. I'm glad to meet you."

Harry shook Draco's hand, uncertain. "Now you know who I am. You can't tell me your intentions are so altruistic now."

"They aren't." Draco responded, sincere. "Honestly, I think you're my type—physically, at least—so I was hoping that we could... that you would consider..." He shook his head, changing tact. "But more than that, I want to be friends with you--the boy who lived, it would be a smart move to gain a higher social standing because that's what happens when you hang out with someone famous. But remember, I also came up to you without knowing your name or who you were. It was a spontaneous decision so you can't say my initial intentions were so selfish. Not as much as you might think. You look about the right age for a Hogwarts first year, like me, so I was hoping."

Draco was completely upfront. And that ulterior motive, social status? That _was_ a smart move. While Harry entirely expected it to come up, he hadn't expected Draco to come right out and say it. Not so soon, anyways.

_"We don't hide our motives from you," his aunt said. "People who tell you what they want of you, in certain situations that makes them slightly more trustworthy because now you know what they want. Mind, you shouldn't let your guard down because they might as well betray you around the next best opportunity. They'll use you, but sometimes that's okay if you benefit as well."_

Draco looked upper class and his accent spoke of as much. Posh. The mannerisms and attitude, from what little Harry could gather, seemed like that of a person he could use for his own status boost, if he so chose. Harry just needed to find out if this boy had a respectable reputation or not. Well, right now, he could use a person to talk to, to help him out, because Diagon Alley was unsettling and making him nervous, whether he liked to admit it or not. Unbalanced. It was there, underneath his confidence.

"You're right. I'm going to be a Hogwarts first year, like you," Harry answered, after a lengthy pause of time. Draco had waited patiently for him, which wasn't entirely unexpected. "Being friends, or whatever it is you're asking for, is merely a cover for getting what you want: personal gain. So don't pretend like you want it to be anything more than what it is. To be seen with me in public. To hang out, go places. I don't know you and I certainly don't trust you. Being _whatever_ with me is nothing but a byproduct for your true motivations."

That probably wasn't the best start to getting this _Draco Malfoy_ to show him around Diagon Alley, but he wasn't all too concerned if Draco walked away after being called out. Harry had come this far on his own, unsettled or not.

Another pause, this time from Draco. He seemed to be in thought about something. Harry was just about to continue looking through the book stacks when Draco continued.

"Trust takes time, right?" Draco asked and Harry nodded. That much was true. "I wasn't lying when I said I want to be your friend, Harry, but I understand what you said. I don't know why you're so skeptical about this, but it's okay. I'm used to people thinking that way; those who are only concerned about how to get ahead in life. They dump their "friends" when things go sour or they outlast their usefulness. With me so far?"

"Yeah." What else could Harry say? "It's how _normal_ society works. Even the magical one, loath as I am to group those two things together." He made sure to emphasize the word, to make sure Draco understood what Harry was saying.

Harry continued."Magic is not to be trusted. That's the way the world spins, although you probably can't see it. You're _blind_ to the truth because your parents lied to you; you don't know any better. How about that? Do you still believe me?"

This boy looked like he was comfortable around magic, and growing up in this society, it wouldn't be surprising if Draco was offended by Harry's attitude towards the magical community as a whole. His further accusations. Would this boy be the type easily offended when his beliefs were questioned? That's the feeling Harry received.

Draco sputtered an indignant response a moment later, and started on an unfettered lecture of why Harry's beliefs were misguided when he suddenly shut himself up. Harry watched carefully as the boy took long, deep breaths.

"Magic sometimes feels as if it has a mind of its own. Uncontrolled or wild magic. If a spell is too strong, and the wizard or witch not powerful enough to control it, then it can be damaging, both physically and mentally." Draco cocked his head at Harry, curious. "Do you think all people with magic are dangerous?"

Harry nodded. "You grew up in this society, so you're blind to the truth." How many times would Harry have to repeat that until it sunk in? "I've heard the stories. My _muggle_ aunt and her magical sister, to start with. My aunt and my magical _mother_. Magic corrupts; no matter how young you are, you're prone to such _evil_ behaviors; it's in your nature.

"She died to save me. Her magical child, but she was already past saving. Insane from the magic, just like that dark wizard. She should have let me die, but I'm here now and I'm not suicidal. I'll die when it's time. Ridding _proper_ society of another bane in its existence."

He had diarrhea of the mouth today. Why the fuck was he telling a _perfect stranger_ his life story? This was personal information and besides that, he was talking to a _magic_ person. A _wizard_. This was playing with fire but if he was going to get into it with someone, might as well let his own opinions be heard. He wanted to see how Draco reacted, gauge the response so Harry knew how to better handle himself when he finally began interacting with other members of this society. Most importantly, the other students at Hogwarts.

"Isn't it worth something that your mother died to save you?" Draco asked, his voice still ringing with curiosity.

"I know fuck all about my biological parents. I'm curious about them, sure, but knowing they were _magic_? That's a stain on my background." Harry shrugged, unconcerned. "I'm happy with my current family unit and wouldn't trade it. They taught me how to survive and be accepted, such as it is. Despite my inherent subservient role, and my magical disadvantage at a normal life.

"You're like my cousin though. Someone who always gets their way, free to do what you want, accepted into society, depending on others to do your bidding. To serve you. Probably look down on those who do serve you, do the chores around the house. I'm perfectly happy with my station and I'd imagine so are you, happy about yours."

There was a look on Draco's face Harry couldn't read. Yeah, there was still that element of curiosity but something else, too.

"There are two types of boys in the world," Harry said. "You, and me. Get it?"

Draco laughed; it was carefree. "Yeah. You pegged me perfectly but I don't believe you deserve to be treated like all you're good for is a slave or a servant. Don't be offended, but that's my opinion and I'm not going to say anything about your family... _unit_." The word didn't roll of Draco's tongue as easily as it did with Harry. Odd. "You're not the Harry Potter I expected."

Harry scoffed. "What _did_ you expect, then?"

"Someone like me," Draco responded immediately. "You're worth more than you know, and I'm not just talking about how powerful a wizard you might become. I just... you intrigue me and I want to know _who you really are_ inside. I don't think this is the _real_ you. You are no one's servant."

"You honestly believe that? I was born this way, it's in my _nature_." Harry shook his head. "You're misguided. I do what my family needs me to, things they can't do because they were not born to be so low. I don't care how famous I am here. I'll never amount to more than a boy to be used for the purpose of others.

"But I've learned ways to benefit from my arrangements; tete-a-tete. The manipulated and manipulation. People will _want_ things from me and that's all there is, all I'm good for. The rest of my unit can fall in love, have friends if they wanted but I will never have those things. I have already accepted that."

Draco stepped closer, placing a hand on Harry's arm. His grip was soft, but firm. "You're worth more than this. You deserve a better life than the one they have created and conditioned you for. But I still would like to get to know you better, Harry. If you let me."

"I am how I am, there's no changing that." Harry was firm, but he let the matter rest because there was something else Harry didn't understand. It was bothering him and he wanted to know _why_. It puzzled him.

"What do you want from me? Why do you insist on getting to know me better? You've been truthful so far as I can see but I don't know why you are so persistent about it. You keep repeating that you _care_ about me like it—I—actually matter so tell me, _what do you want?_ "

A shrug. "You interest me, more so now that I know who you are. Your belief system. I don't care how young I am, or that my parents think I'm not old enough to know what I want. I find you attractive and it bothers me that you think this way. Right now, that's all I know."

Harry had never thought about romance or attraction before but if he were honest with himself, if Harry Potter had a type, Draco was one of those types. Good looking, smart and at least mildly concerned with public mannerisms and fitting in (upper class). Those were always attractive features.

Draco declaring he wanted Harry less for social status (a byproduct) but because of naught but an _attraction_? It sounded nothing more than a sweet talking ruse but an intriguing concept all the same and Harry found himself giving in, so much as he could. Spending more time with Draco would solve many of his current problems.

"Just to be clear, I am _not_ your friend or your date." Harry's eyes never left Draco's silver-grey ones. "Right now, we are helping each other—an exchange. I want someone to help show me around and to talk to about this new magical community and you want to spend time with me. Never trust _anyone_ outside your family unit. That's how this works."

Harry tentatively let a small portion of his guard down. Yet another head tilt from Draco and another expression Harry couldn't read.

"Yeah, that's okay. For now, I'll accept that." Draco held out his hand again. Harry took it for another quick shake. "I'll change your mind, and I know you'll give me the world to do it because I can read you _better_ than you can read me. Or yourself. But it doesn't matter right now because we have Quidditch books to look for and I need to explain to you what the sport is all about."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Side Note #3** : I totally used the word "hinky" in the story because I just finished watching the 1st season of NCIS (for the 1st time) so I couldn't resist slipping this bit in here.


	3. Paranoia is Overrated

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry's paranoia comes back to bite him in the arse. Also, never trust a jangling door because they also want to bite you in the arse. Harry just knows it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Beta** : TheSupernova
> 
>  **NOTE #1** : See if you can find the Nightmare Before Christmas reference. I love inserting Easter Eggs. Hehehehe. :D

_“That little word ‘WE_ _’_ _I mistrust and here'_ _s why:_  
_No man of another can say “He is I”._  
_Behind all agreement lies something amiss  
_ _All seeming accord cloaks a lurking abyss.”_

_—_ _Albert Einstein_ _, " Dukas"_

* * *

Harry was _not_ going to entrust his life to a _magical broom_ while flying 20 feet up in the air and _hope_ it doesn't _let him fall_. He was smarter than that. And nothing Draco could say was changing his mind.

"If you go first," Harry said. "You'll magic it and then I _will_ fall."

"We'll give it time," Draco responded casually, busy scanning the book titles. "Ah." He placed another book on a pile he was building in an empty section of shelf space just below. "That one has a good overview and lots of pictures."

"Pictures that _move_." Harry eyed the cover ominously. The people on the cover were flying around a small field pitch, zooming back and forth while throwing a brown ball, bashing each other with angry brown balls (using caveman clubs) and chasing a third small, golden flying one. Very small. Why couldn't the pictures just stay still?

"That's how wizarding pictures are supposed to look," Draco said, noticing Harry's disconcert expression in a sidelong glance, before turning back to the bookshelf to begin a lecture on Quidditch, as promised.

"Quidditch is an extremely popular sport, if the roaring crowds, books, articles and merchandising aren’t telling enough. They even have..."

Harry was not impressed with the nonchalant attitude and general enthusiasm so he decided to ignore Draco entirely, including the aberrant pictures and the small pile of Quidditch books, in favor of the nice, _normal_ muggle football books with pictures that _did not move_.

"...are seven members on a Quidditch team. Three chasers, two beaters, a keeper and a seeker. The chasers job is to..."

Ironically the section on football was located right next to Quidditch. Harry wasn't too pleased to find that his favorite sport was only worth one long shelving space, while the other apparently warranted three floor-to-ceiling bookcases, towering two-story monsters in height. The one Harry stood in front of was only five feet tall. He gave the nearby towers a disapproving glare, discreetly flipped them the bird and turned back to his football shelf.

"...keeper guards the goal post by catching the quaffle, which if successful prevents the other team from..."

Harry ran his finger along the book spines. They had to have something here on trading cards...

"...and the tiny golden ball with wings, called the Snitch, is important to the Seeker because..."

Found it. _The Comprehensive Guide to Football Trading Cards: Finding, Pricing, Trading and Caring for Your Cards. Now Includes a Picture Reference and Pricing Checklist on CD and Digital Download Format Containing Cards from the Late 1860s to 2015 [Limited Collector’s Edition]_

The volume was monstrous; oversized and about twelve centimeters (five inches) thick. Most importantly, these pictures _did not move_. It was glorious and extremely familiar, whereas everything else around him just felt _wrong_ somehow. When Draco's hand landed on his shoulder, Harry startled and the book slipped from his hands, heading towards the floor.

Draco dove for it, catching the book just before it slammed into the ground. He turned it around, reading the cover.

"You collect trading cards?" Draco asked, handing back the book.

Harry took it suspiciously, turning and twisting it around looking for any obvious signs of it being magicked. Not that Draco had done anything but physically save it from falling but Harry's growing paranoia was beside the point.

"No," Harry said, sighing. He held the book closely for a moment before putting it back where he got it. "I want to, but you know very well why I can't."

Still, Harry eyed the book closely and his fingers itched to hold it again. Dudley had collected football cards when they were younger. The phase had only lasted a few months, but Harry liked looking through Dudley's albums when his family unit had left him home alone. The different collector’s albums and the endless pages of cards.

"It hadn't occurred to me until you mentioned the Quidditch trading cards somewhere in that little rant of yours..." he trailed off, eyeing the volume. It was a limited collector’s edition. He ran his finger over the spine, tracing the words. "My cousin collected them for a while, and I would look at them when my unit wasn't home, whenever I had a few minutes to spare. They never said I couldn't."

Harry sighed again. "I don't have anything of my own. You know I don't deserve to. Yet since I've come here, I've bought things I shouldn't have. Things I don't require for school."

Harry was torn over what to do. He liked buying things for himself, and he didn't understand why. These compulsions hadn't asserted themselves before now.

Draco's hand glided down Harry's arm, resting gently above his wrist. "I know you're in a magical bookshop, but this book is a muggle edition. See here?" He pulled out the trading card volume, searching the front and back cover until he found the small, stripped barcode tucked in the bottom corner on the back. "These barcode thingies show up because the shoppe buys them directly from muggle suppliers."

Harry relaxed just looking at it; the familiarity again releasing the tension in his shoulders and across his back.

"It's just a book, Harry," Draco assured him. "But consider it of therapeutical value. This book is just to get you through the rest of this shopping trip. If you're going to keep your guard up, you need to _calm down_ in order to do it. Focus and concentration wane if you begin to panic. Be rational about this."

The book was shoved back into Harry's arms but he was hesitant. Harry could theoretically excuse the Quidditch books as extra reading for learning up on a school sport; the same could not be said for the other. Draco snapped his fingers and Harry looked up. Three Quidditch books were placed in his arms, on top of his monstrous volume. Draco carried seven books of various sizes and thicknesses of his own.

"I'm teaching you about Quidditch the sport and by proxy Quidditch _trading cards_." Draco emphasized, leveling his gaze. "Tete-a-tete, Harry. I want to know about your muggle sport and to get a better look at those odd little non-moving muggle trading cards."

Harry was seriously in doubt about Draco's little declaration. "Like you care. It's a _muggle_ sport. No magic, no excitement or flying brooms. No hovering balls and snitches. Most of all, _no_ _flying_." Harry glared. "With the way you were going on about Quidditch being the Greatest Sport of All Time Ever Invented, football will be dreadfully _boring_ in comparison, Draco, admit it."

Draco looked abashed, briefly. "I told you, I want to get to know you. If you find this so interesting, I'm willing to give it a chance. But you weren't wrong. Quidditch is more exciting for me—and the rest of the wizarding community—because magic itself is exciting. We can do more things with it, things muggles could never dream of."

Silence followed. Harry had nothing to else to say and the lull in conversation gave Harry a chance to slip around Draco towards the storefront. Time to find the textbooks.

"How important is football to you?" Draco asked quietly.

A few aisles passed by before Harry spoke up. He turned sharply and Draco stopped seconds before running into him."It's a time honored sport, Draco. It's tradition. There is no greater game to be played than football."

"Like Quidditch is for me," Draco stated.

Harry glared, and moved to turn back towards the front when a hand stopped him. Draco juggled his wavering stack of books with the other hand, balancing them precariously against his side and stomach.

"You give Quidditch a try, and I'll play football with you at school. Many of our peers wouldn't understand why anyone would choose to play a muggle sport." A shrug. "It's as backwards for them as the reverse is for you."

Harry nodded.

"I'll defend you and whatever muggle sport or activity you choose to play at Hogwarts. I won't make fun of you for it and I'll _persuade_ others to do the same."

Draco was offering protection which was something Harry longed for. He grew up with Dudley constantly on watch. But to accept help from a _wizard_ , who could just as well help as humiliate him?

Draco was _magic_. Magic couldn't be _trusted_ but there was something different about Draco he couldn't name. Everyone Harry had passed by on the streets, and the staff, even thinking about these magic folk made him cringe. Harry didn't fear Draco like the others, and it didn't make his hair stand on end. How long had it taken for Harry to let his guard down?

"I don't like this and _I don't trust you_ but I can't stop myself from wondering if maybe I'm wrong," Harry said truthfully. "I don't like what you're doing to me. I'm vulnerable and you're going to betray me."

Draco smiled softly, but didn't respond.

They browsed the bookstore along the way, and while Harry found some interesting books he didn't find any he wanted to buy. Not on this trip, anyways. With the help of a staff member, they picked up their textbooks in just under twenty-five minutes across multiple levels of the bookstore by walking up three floors (one book), down _five_ floors (four books), trekking across a quarter a mile of bookstore (one book) and eventually hiked three floors up, landing back on ground level (two books). This was the fucking Tardis, pre-technology. It sucked.

Elevators. They were a thing. Not wooden, creaky flights of stairs that might give way any second.

* * *

 _"_ _Magic and muggle technology don't mix well," Draco had told him. "They interfere with each other, to some degree. Many wizards and witches have been known to "enhance" technology with magic, making the technology do things it wasn't intended for. Like flying cars."_

_"Cars?"_

_"Yeah. My father works at the Ministry of Magic—I'll tell you about that later—but he heard about it from the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts department." Draco snorted. "That department does exactly what you think it does. Dunno much more about the car though."_

_"So..."_

_"Ah, right. Muggle technology. Yeah, it's hard to imbue technology with magic correctly; it takes skill and time in order to get the effects you want. But the combination between the two is highly volatile. Nothing works right; it’s unnatural. Eventually, something will give and it'll all break down."_

_"So technology doesn't work because of its proximity to magic?"_

_"Mmm," Draco agreed. "There are advanced shield spells you can use to counteract it, but I'm unfamiliar with what they are. Sometimes I think magic and technology each have specific auras or waves and that crossing the two causes unexpected reactions."_

_Harry showed his trading card book to Draco, pointing out the CD._

_"I'll think of something. I'm guessing you don't want to be seen with it at home?" Harry nodded at Draco's question. "Yeah, okay. CD? Digital download? I'm not sure what they are, but I'll find something you can use at Hogwarts to access it. There has to be a charm or shield spell I can use to nullify the effects magic has on technology. It might take a while to find something that works."_

_Harry nodded. "Okay."_

* * *

"Do you have your Hogwarts trunk already?" Draco asked, as they headed towards the street-way exit of the bookstore. "You'll need it to store all your things. Clothes, school supplies, text books," He motioned towards the bags they were carrying. "Including your extra books."

A bell chime sounded as the doors closed. Harry couldn't see any bells or electronic speakers, so it had to be some sort of spell. He glared at the door as it closed behind them; giving it the lowliest death threat he could muster. He'd have to watch the doors from now on, in case they decided to slam on his arse. _Magic is dangerous_.

Draco snorted at Harry's reaction to the jangling, but didn't say anything.

"The trunk wasn't on the supply list," Harry said, looking it over one more time. His voice was cold. "If they wanted me to have one, they should have said so."

They had been weaving their way through the crowed street, white heavy bags being carried on either side. They were bulky and cumbersome.

"Hogwarts is the only magic school in the United Kingdom but there are six schools in total we can choose from in the Eastern Hemisphere, short of going over to the Americas and other parts of the world." The blonde hesitated before continuing. "It's another thing that separates us from you. Everyone in the wizarding world will go to a magical boarding school. So all of us, even those with muggle born parents, know that we need a trunk without being told. It's common information. We were, as you would say, conditioned to know what to expect."

The bags made good weapons, they were thick and book laden. Harry didn't know if they were made up of plastic or a magically enhanced material but right he didn't care. He spun around towards Draco, swinging his arm around, aiming his bag at Draco's head but his arm was caught, outstretched. It left the bag swinging dangerously in the air.

Harry's temper had started shortly after walking down the _five_ flights of stairs and cemented inside his mind when he was forced to trek across that horridly _magic_ bookstore. Fuck magic and fuck this.

"I know you want to go home," Draco said, and yes, Harry was very much in agreement. Death glares were apparently his thing; he never had a cause to use them before but now was perfect. It made him feel marginally better.

"Fuck you and your stupid magic!" Harry shouted, and a few of the passerby’s stopped, blocking the walkway. A circle was forming around them. _This_ is why the lot of them should be fed to the wolves; abnormal magic, uncouth behavior and expectations.

Draco tightened his grip, giving Harry a glare of his own. "You're making a scene," he whispered harshly.

That stopped Harry dead in his verbal track. Harry was ashamed of his behavior; he had been taught better than this. He gritted his teeth and Draco let go of his arm. Harry dropped it and turned away.

Draco relaxed minutely, after diffusing Harry's temper. Situation in hand, Draco now focused his attention on the forming crowed. Harry could see Draco's body language immediately take on different, arrogant characteristics. Higher breeding standards; high-class with a dangerous superiority complex. Sexy mix.

The crowd was watching Harry closely; he could just imagine the wands being snaked out.

"Do you know who I am?" Draco said haughtily, sneering. Arrogant. "My name is Draco Malfoy." He took a step closer to Harry. "I suggest you keep moving."

That was enough to make them back off. Harry could fully admit, he probably deserved the angry snuffing from the crowd but that didn't mean he was going to thank Draco for stepping in.

"I don't owe you _anything_ ," Harry said, once the crowd had started moving again. Draco was taking them to Ollivander's wand shoppe.

"I did it because I wanted- because you were making a scene." Draco seemed to change his mind mid-sentence. "You damn well know better."

Harry didn't know what to say, but Draco did.

"You saw how they reacted to me. I come from a well-respected pureblood family. Our name is powerful. Pureblood families are rare, Harry. Everyone nowadays comes from mixed blood families, wizards with muggle in their lineage."

Draco stepped in Harry's path, stopping him. "I saved face by helping you. That was all."

Harry could read Draco's voice. He was hiding something, and Harry thought he knew exactly what it was. "You like me."

"I was being a friend," Draco corrected him. "But yeah, I do like you."

That received a huff in response but once again, Harry let it go. He still didn't know what to do with it. The entire concept was laughable.

"Do what you want, Draco. Just don't expect anything from me."

Crowded conversations came in short snippets. It filled the void of silence, which seemed to be a theme at present. Was Draco normally so quiet?

"Are you regretting this?" Harry asked, curious about Draco's silence. "If you want to leave, then go. I was fine before you came."

"Just thinking and getting a feel for you. I want to know how you work."

Draco's motivations were logical. "Makes sense."

Draco stopped, pointing to a shoppe on the right. "We're here."

 _Fuck. No turning back._ Harry thought morosely. Why couldn't he just be normal?

"If you want to graduate Hogwarts, if you want to get out of here, you'll buy a wand."

Draco pushed him lightly towards the shoppe. Round, tower windows sat on either side of the old, dark oak door. Inside the window display hung two old fashioned gas lanterns, with an odd yellow glow edged with a bright orange. He could see long, rectangular boxes inside tall, slim shelves. Two on each side. The shelves inside were crooked, angled every which way like something straight out of _Alice in Wonderland_.

All these shoppes had an old, timeless feel to them. Technology created a modern society while magic kept it simpler, older. A simpler, older backwards society.

"I know it's probably not what you're used to," Draco motioned towards the shoppe. "Some of these shoppes aren't as... modern, is the word? In appearance. We won't stay long."

Harry snorted. "You're so understanding for someone who knows shit about normal society. Muggles. Before meeting me, who were the uncultured swine then? How often did you venture into _muggle_ London, if at all? Or did you look in one of your pretty picture books?"

"You're not wrong, about any of that. We're more alike than I realized at first. We should hate each other on principle but you've got me all mixed up. I don't even know why I'm catering to you, I hate the muggle culture as much as you hate mine but when I'm with you, it doesn't seem to matter."

Draco cocked his head at Harry, who merely nodded, before looking away. Harry automatically wrapped his arms around himself, wavering slightly.

"I'm beginning to understand you, how your mind works," Draco said, tugging on Harry's arm. They walked the last few steps towards the door. "I'm here. Let's go inside."

This door jingled too, but Draco was right behind him so the door couldn't do anything funny to Harry's backside. Stupid magical door. This whole place was making him lose his mind, out of control, overwhelmed. If Diagon Alley was striking up chords of paranoia, Hogwarts was going to send him to a mental institution.

Draco was staring at him curiously. Harry shrugged his shoulders and walked part way up to the front desk.

Inside, every single wall was covered floor to ceiling with shelves full of small rectangular boxes, presumably protecting one wand per box. Many more shelving units created cramped aisles throughout the shoppe. The aisles were big enough for one person and two straight, rolling ladders the height of the units lined on either side; each set on railing tracks connected to the shelves. A door with a small sign reading "staff only" lay in the back sandwiched between the wall shelves and above the door were even more shelves. No wall space was left uncovered.

Behind them, two small waiting areas lay situated next to the display windows. Two armchairs on one side and a small coffee table with a long five seated couch on the other. Tall, large-leafed plants in squatty antique pots lie on either side of the couch, while the other side contained the plants in a medium sized chubby pot between the armchairs.

Not immediately espying the proprietor, Draco took Harry's bags from Flourish and Blotts, and set them on the floor between the two armchairs. He turned back to notice an elderly man on a ladder sliding towards them, coming to a stop at the rail's end.

"I was wondering when I would see you, Harry Potter," the man said, before turning to Draco. "And Draco! Good to see you again! Not looking for a replacement wand, I wonder."

Draco waved him off politely. "Still good as new."

Harry noticed Draco reaching for his wand, hidden in the left sleeve of his beige sweater, but quickly aborted the action when he noticed Harry tensing up. "Harry, however, needs your services, Mr. Ollivander."

"Ah yes, Mr. Potter." Ollivander walked up to the old, creaky counter aside an ancient cash register. This shoppe was probably new once upon a time. Perhaps back in the late 1800s. Fucking place was probably held together by _magic alone_. Diagon Alley was odd. Harry like the clothing boutique because it didn't have the old 1800s vibe, but the rest of the shoppes were _questionable_.

Apparently Harry's mind had wandered off, because Ollivander was still talking. Probably about wands.

"...I've ever sold, Mr. Potter. I help my wands find their proper owners. Why I remember when your parents..."

Draco's hand landed on his shoulder, stilling Harry's anger which was seconds away from boiling over. In the leaky cauldron, his _fans_ apparently thought it wise to say how pleased they were that the boy-who-lived survived an attacked by he-who-must-not-be-named and that his parents were loving, and brave and whom made the ultimate sacrifice in the name of love and will be sorely missed because they were nice people who didn't deserve to die.

But he'd had enough and if he heard one more _fucking thing_ about his fucking parents and any more of that goddamn boy-who-lived crap...

Mr. Ollivander walked down the aisles, climbing various ladders in search of the Perfect Wand. He then began recounting a tale about the trouble his mother had in finding a wand, how she had gone through almost twenty before the Perfect Wand was found. The shoppe had been a mess by that point. It was probably supposed to make Harry feel more comfortable, the poor boy who had never known his parents must be eager to hear as many tales as he could. Like a sponge soaking up water.

Which was bullshit. And Harry was not going to hold back this time because his patience with this whole blasted place was wearing quite thin.

"The wand?" Draco asked, effectively stopping the wand masters tirade and preventing one of Harry's.

"Of course, of course," Mr. Ollivander answered, taking the hint.

Draco squeezed Harry's shoulder, but the calming gesture wasn't helping.

"This place hasn't changed since the late 1800s, Draco. I can tell. That's when the cash register was first invented."

Draco laughed. "Probably not, but why should it? Magic is happy the way it is. While Muggles continue to create objects and buildings to make things easier for them, we use and create magical spells instead. Not everything we have comes from the—1800s, did you say?—because we like new and fancy things just as much as muggles. Magic really does make life easier Harry, but upgrades aren't always a priority for us because of it."

"Right," Harry said with disdain. "You think you're so much _better_ than us. Oh, look at those muggles and their silly cars and rubber ducks! Look at them, cleaning and scrubbing the floors by hand, how preposterous and silly! We can do it with a wave of our wand!" He stepped towards Draco, running a finger down Draco's chest. Draco took a step back, but Harry moved with him.

"We've learned how to do things differently, the _hard_ way because _convenience_ doesn't come so easily for us!" he whispered hotly. "How ludicrous muggles are, how _backwards_! So don't tell me you haven't made fun of us because I know you have."

Harry stepped back out of Draco's space.

"Everyone here has laughed at muggles," Draco sighed. "Even those wizards from muggle born families. When you accept magic, you begin to notice the difference between what magic can do and its technological counterpart. It's funny."

Draco reached for Harry's hand, hoping for what he couldn't say, but Harry slapped it away. He turned his back on Draco.

The backroom door opened with—unsurprisingly—a loud, long _creaking_ sound. There are many _natural_ and presumably _magical_ ways to fix a fucking creaky arse door without using _technology_.

Mr. Ollivander came over with four thin boxes of wands, picking up a fifth on a nearby shelf, halfway across the floor. Each box had been placed neatly side by side in front of him. The wand master opened the first box on the left, holding out a wand for Harry to try.

* * *

_"Why? Why can't I just go to a regular school?" Harry cried out softly, desperately. "Why does it have to be Hogwarts, or some other fucked up magical boarding school of yours?"_

_"Because," Draco said, stepping closer. "If you don't learn to control it now, it'll be impossible to later. As an adult, you'll turn into a wild mage. Uncontrolled, wild magic is highly unpredictable. You'll be hunted, caught and put down like a wild animal because that's exactly what you'll be._

_"Tell me, Harry. What do you want? Would you rather spend seven years at Hogwarts, gaining a chance at some semblance of a normal life, to grow old and die? Or do you want to spend your teenage years slowly going insane? You'll have about three years before there's no turning back!"_

_Harry gritted his teeth. There was nothing he could say to that, because Draco was right. It had to be Hogwarts._

* * *

There was no choice. Harry grabbed the wand from Mr. Ollivander. Nothing happened at first, so he gave it a small wave because that's what you did with magic wands. The classic fairy tale, Cinderella, had a fairy godmother who waved her magic wand to make it work.

Of all those magical fairy tales—was Cinderella actually based off of a true story, or was it originally imagined and written by Giambattista Basile in 1697?

With a wave of the wand, he immediately heard a series of loud crashing sounds, of glass breaking, and papers fluttering in the air off to the right. A few drawers had come off their hinges and were lying scattered upon the floor. Draco had ducked out of the way, and was now sitting comfortably in an armchair next to their bags, furthest away from him. Harry received a grin, a shrug.

 _Magic_. Destruction. He hated all of it because magic is power. Power over muggles who were incapable of fighting back. So weak.

"No, I don't think that's the one," Mr. Ollivander remarked, taking the wand back from Harry.

The next two wands were exactly the same. The second wand had caused part of the left wall to be obliterated completely. Shelves, papers, wand boxes and all (save for the wands, which scattered themselves about the entire shoppe). The third wand meant the garden pots either side of the long couch had exploded. Every spring inside the couch had sprung free and was now bouncing about the floor and on the oval coffee table. Made of cherry wood, the antique table had two levels: a solid wooden shelf lie between the tabletop and the floor, while the table itself had a thick round frame and glass inset with floral etching. The table was decorated with carved wooden motifs in what looked to be a matching floral and leaf design.

Small plinking and tiny thunking sounds resounded from one waiting room, while quiet laughter emitted from the other.

"Definitely a "no" then," the wand master replied, replacing Harry's wand with a fourth.

This time, the tip of the wand shone brightly, creating a soft swirl of wind and light, rising from the floor to the ceiling, in a small cyclone. For a few seconds, he was totally encompassed by a pure, blinding light, and couldn't see beyond its cylindrical walls. Harry had to blink a few times for his eyes to adjust when his surroundings finally blurred into focus, as the cyclone slowly died down, ceasing completely.

_"Curious...very curious...It so happens that the phoenix whose tail feather is in your wand, gave another feather — just one other. It is very curious indeed that you should be destined for this wand when its brother gave you that scar."_

_—Ollivander in Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone_

Impossible. This couldn't be happening. The psychopathic magical madman hell bent on destroying (and conquering) the world was embodied inside this fucking wand. _Harry's wand_. This wand _was going to drive him mad_ if he used it.

All wizards were going to turn dark eventually but they hardly made the world news papers on quite that scale (because even Harry could attest to how ludicrous a truth that would be).

Harry just wanted to live his life quietly after graduation, not turn into some twisted, dark wizard like the second coming. Or third coming, if the current he-who-must-not-be-named guy wasn't entirely as dead as people hoped. A future foretold?

"No," Harry whispered, gripping the wand until his fingers turned white with the strain. The floor was covered in wands of all types and colors, surrounding him, closing in so tight that Harry began to feel claustrophobic. He needed to get out of there, needed to get rid of this wand before it had a chance to infiltrate his mind.

Something inside Harry _snapped_ like a rubber band, stretched too far and too thin. _Magic_ muddled around in his brain, warring between his beliefs and reality; right versus wrong.

"Just get away from me!" Harry yelled bitterly, throwing the wand as hard as he could towards the wall above the gutted couch. He bolted towards the door before anyone could stop him.

"...dium Levios..."

He was going mad. His temples felt as if they were being crushed into his skull, tension stiffened his muscles and made his legs and body feel clumsy, center of balance tilted sideways.

Harry crashed into a tall planted vase, half his height, beside the door (had that been there before?), cracking it open like an egg when it shattered against the wall. Its shards and equally lofty plant spread across the floor in a miniature landslide. The poor Canna Warscewiczii, a plant with reedy red blossoms spiraling down the stalk as if a pine cone had been dragged with the dirt until it came rolling to a stop, the worse for wear.

It took Harry three tries to get the door knob open in his hysteria.

"Harry!" Draco called out. Just as he reached his hand out for Harry's arm, the door swung wide open and he scrambled back in time to avoid getting hit.

"Harry!" Draco called again, but Harry wasn't listening, and soon Draco's pleas went unheard as the hustle and bustle of the crowded, busy streets filled the air.

* * *

Delicate smells of bread and pastries wafted from across the way, causing his steps to falter. A small cafe carried a typical lunch rush, patrons sitting out front in tables shaded by large umbrellas. The sky overhead was pure blue, a single cloud hanging up near the sun.

It was an hour after high noon and he was _hungry_. He had gotten in trouble this morning for accidentally mixing up the weekly menus. Harry had made tomorrow's breakfast (blueberry pancakes with a side of bacon, sausage and fruit) instead of today's breakfast (chocolate waffles and scrambled eggs for Dudley, buttermilk pancakes with fresh strawberries, golden honey syrup and eggs sunny side up for Petunia and Vernon, and side of cottage cheese for everyone).

Needless to say, Harry hadn't gotten his daily breakfast of buttered toast (two slices) and a glass of water (and if he was lucky, the scraps his unit left on their plates). But he had also missed dinner the night before, because tending to garden and cleaning the patio furniture had taken longer than he thought, despite starting an hour and a half after mid-day. Dinner had been late because he lost track of time. Dinner was _never_ late. To Harry's defense, the umbrella had somehow gotten one of those semi-permanent stains on it within the last week, and cleaning it had been a bitch.

Harry was _very_ hungry. As he pushed and evaded his way through the crowd, he stumbled straight into a nearby food plaza. A row of small restaurants were facing each other down in a row, as if a section of a turnoff street or alleyway had been overrun and replaced by a food court. The pathways were made of brick, the color of eggshell (a light cream).

The restaurants were small buildings, big enough for the front counter and a full-sized kitchen. All the buildings were sandwiched together, one next to the other. In the middle of the lane was a line of scattered tables and chairs, of the same style as the Leaky Cauldron. The row sectioned off with a post iron fence, topped with rounded knobs.

Open sections of walkways allowed the customers to enter and exit the area. All the tables were full.

Harry slowed to a walk in order to navigate the packed walkways. Thin trails of people browsing the restaurant choices wound through the long, circling lines that choked the entire path.

He read a few of the restaurant names: Pizza Parlor, Burger Palace, Chicken La Coup, Texican Mexican, Barley and Oats World Famous Grass Shakes, Seafood Wonders, and the Fortunate Chinese Empire, among others.

Menus posted outside each building caused people to mill about in groups, further obstructing his way. Nonsensical conversations, small talk, chatting over what to order while arguing over prices, portions and quality of the food filtered through the air.

Coveys of people passed each other as they entered or left the seating area. Harry did a double take; the lunch rush walking through the open gateways were actually _disappearing_ and _reappearing_ passing the gate line. The ones sitting at the visible tables were the only ones who walked through the gateways without _disappearing_ or _reappearing_.

"Stop running away from me, Harry! Please!" Draco's voice could barely be heard over the constant chattering and occasional bickering in his ears. "I promise to help you! Whatever it is I-"

No time for stopping. That fucking wand was going to be the end of him. It was powerful and _dark_ and Harry wanted nothing to do with it.

Harry left the food court, hanging an immediate right. More shoppes lined the street, but the street itself split into a straight fork. Three quarters of the road passed by him, but in front lay a small entryway, courting down three large flights of stairs. An archway greeted him, paved in stone the color of ecru. The wide sandstone stairs, of the same color, led down, opening up twice on the right. One leading to a small house, closed in by those same walls, with barely a foot on the sides and back of the house. The front was no better, about ten feet of small grey stone steps leading up to the dark brown door and white, cubical house.

Halfway down the stairs, Harry stopped briefly to check out the second side entryway. This was a shoppe but it looked _shady_. The rectangular space was a shoppe front from wall to wall, wide window displays on either side of a door. It was covered in black chipped paint, which lay over a chipped dark green, which finally revealed the light brown wood. It was dark, only one light hanging above the archway. Like the house next to it, only ten feet of space lay between the shoppe front and the walls of the arch.

It was the bars on the window, closed white curtains behind them and the graffiti of symbols and strange words on the left window creeped him out. A shadow person appeared behind the white curtain on the right, disturbing the fabric. A shiver ran down Harry's spine; he got a move on, rushing the rest of the way down the steps.

The sky beyond the archway was the same pure, still blue with its cloud puffs dotting the sky, but it no longer contained a sense of serenity. The sun was bright, but whatever was down here, the atmosphere had turned dark. The bright, warm rays couldn't be felt, although Harry was standing in direct sunlight. The sky was _wrong_ down here. It felt like a mirage.

A gloom in the air reminded Harry of an overcast sky, with a dark grey, almost black cloud ceiling threatening a pouring rain. The faint smell of the ocean—salt water—was an inland sign of rain permeating the air.

He stopped looking at the sky after that.

This shopping alley was full of twists and turns, as if the streets themselves were changing direction, and the buildings rotating and reforming themselves alike. One minute he was walking down a stretch of lane, far as the eye could see and the next he was faced with a dead end. He slammed head-on into a wall made of rounded stone bricks. Harry turned to find himself facing an entire district of residential houses; they reminded Harry of his own neighborhood. Nice, normal muggle housing.

Harry was standing in front of a series of houses encased in the brick wall, the classy buildings with large yards, a gated entryway, and decorated lawn, flowerbeds and perfectly green grass. The street stretched down on either side.

In front of Harry was a street similar to his own; as he walked down the sidewalk, he noticed it looked _exactly_ the same. Cars and trucks in driveways, children appearing as if they were once ghosts, now corporeal in form. A small group of five—two boys, three girls—kicked a black and white ball around the street, the goal posts were half the size of a professional set, this one obviously made for children.

People mowing their laws waved to him, large smiles on their faces. A teenage boy walked passed him; dark skin, ironed blue shorts and a white shirt, matching blue ball cap, had a side bag full of newspapers. They threw them onto driveways and occasionally onto the front porch.

Every single house had their curtains drawn, and shadow people stood stock still behind all of them; first floor living rooms, second floor bedrooms and the small curtain which occasionally lie behind the long, side window next to the front door. Heads followed him as he walked, and Harry _felt_ the gazes fall on him. The glinting of eyes in the sunlight caught his eyes, a skittering sound shuffled behind him.

All of a sudden, Harry felt a _wrongness_ about this place. It didn't simply make him uncomfortable; there was something else more dangerous lurking in the shadows. Whatever was making those noises behind him, he refused to look. Whether this place was real or simply an illusion, Harry was being followed. The shadow people, and the glinting eyes, the malice in the air were palpable. It was when the shadow people disappeared from their curtains that Harry began to run.

In the distance, Harry could see a few side streets, the first to the right and a left farther down the street. But the moment his foot stepped onto the turn, he was thrown back, stumbling, and upon picking himself up, he was back to the beginning. This time there was no brick wall; the left and right neighborhoods were a mirror copy, the side streets in the distance calling him. _Come closer_.

No matter where he ran, no matter how far, he would find himself stumbling and back at the center. When Harry turned around, a shadow person stood before him; through the darkness he could see a shopping district. He didn't hesitate. Into the moving, breathing shadow. Harry walked right through.

* * *

Harry had no idea where he was, but he did know where he wasn't: Diagon Alley. The atmosphere felt oppressive, as it had since he walked through the bottom archway.

Endless rows of shoppes. Some open for business, while others had blacked out windows; a few were boarded up completely.

Between a few of the buildings lie small, narrow alleyways, a little under the size of two adults. The creeping darkness; small animals scuffling about, shuttering and clanging noises he couldn't identify and bodiless voices with their unintelligible conversations, served to make him shudder.

Compared to the jingling doors, he would gladly take a few smacks on his arse if it meant never treading down this place again.

The street he stumbled into was holding a street fair or farmer's market. Stalls were scattered about the streets, while nearby shoppes all had their doors open, a beckoning invitation. But there was an ominous presence about this place Harry didn't like. It had been a mistake running away like this; passing through those archways, ignoring the shady looking shoppe that should have made him run back to safety.

Unlike Diagon Alley, only a handful of signs were written in English. Some carried symbols or drawings, and others were impossible for Harry to read. Literally. In sign just off to the left, Harry knew there was something written, but every time he tried to look, his head would automatically turn away.

Many of the stalls belonged to grocers, along with many of the aside buildings, like the potions shoppe Harry had witnessed earlier, sold all manner of normal items to the _highly exotic_.

Harry could only describe the vegetables inside the outdoor bins and boxes surrounding him as _unnatural_.

One "vegetable" was shaped like a deformed baby, and where its mouth and nose should have been was a carved out hole with some sort of rice or mash stuffing; of the kind you fill in empty bell peppers or baked salmon. Among the stalls lay a series of old, wooden boxes made up of nailed slats on each side, providing peeking holes for its inner contents. Third from the left held a whole caboodle of very alive _beating hearts_ sized from small, itty bitty ones. Harry had no idea if these were from muggle animals, or the more fantastical ones known only to the wizarding world.

Harry stopped window and bin shopping at that point. Besides which, nothing good came of grocers selling people shaped veggies and internal organs. Some of which being still very much alive. Maybe. Harry didn't ask.

The street was dead. Oppressive silence weighted the air, and the stalls and buildings were deserted. Block after block, no people, animals or even shadow people glinting at him through the windows, or peeking behind their curtains. This place was a void; empty, drained. Only Harry existed, had ever existed. Eternal.

He blinked. A crashing wall of sound hit him with the force of tsunami wave. The impact threw him backwards onto the cobblestone, landing on his back he wheezed, struggling for air. His body lay prone, so weak he couldn't move; the panic lifted as his throat opened up, his lungs inhaling and exhaling, catching the air in fluidity instead of desperate gulps.

People surrounded him and the hustle and bustle of the city blocks returned to normal. There was barter of coin and equal trades, arguments and deals, conversations both casual and serious.

A few buzzards were flying overhead. Harry didn't question that one.

Harry rolled to the side, scrambling onto his feet towards the sidewalk in time to see a stumbling, very rotund man droning in wordless vocal tones as he bulldozed his way through the crowd. His physique was similar to one of those flabby Sumo-wrestlers Harry once saw on TV. People were bouncing off his bulging fat; feet were stepped on and tripping over each other. In his wake was a calamity.

Carts and stalls were quickly wheeled out of the way. A few carts which had fallen in his path were crushed, splintering underneath the weight. Half the cart had been left untouched. Fruit, vegetables and bloody parts trailed the man, clinging to the bottom of each shoe.

Harry stepped carefully around the masses, weaving his way along the sidewalk. He turned right, the nearest side street, away from the chaos. The man had obviously not passed by this section of alley. People and carts were bartering still, as if unaware of the madhouse that was now the main street.

He blinked. The sky was overcast, a ceiling of dusty grey above him. The bright, bustling streets were gone, replaced with broken—down buildings, all worn from age and neglect that surrounded him. Dark houses with yards, surrounded by shabby fences and porches with holes, lay at the edge of the city, almost twenty, thirty blocks down. Three shoppes to each block, trash rolling around the street, broken display windows; all the buildings were connected, three stories tall, probably apartments or offices. Small windows, more nailed boards. A few had curtains peeking behind them. Harry walked faster.

The streets were full of large potholes, with missing or pried up cobblestones up and down the streets. Dirt and grassy plants were starting to spring up between the edges. The outskirts of the city were no more than a barren ghost town, long abandoned.

The dead atmosphere, the aged neglect, was misleading; what had followed him before was here, now. Waiting for Harry's attention to waver. Shadows moved once more in their windows, curtains open and blowing in the breeze. The buildings verbally settled in their places with huge, yawing groans.

A small wailing in the distance. Glinting eyes. Scampering rodents and cats in the corner of his eye, but never dead on. Hallucinations?

Harry walked passed another small alleyway. A bowed, shuffling figure wearing an old burgundy hooded cloak stepped into his path. Her hood fell back as she raised her head and Harry saw the face of an old, hunched witch with a crooked nose and a few facial moles with sprigs of hair growing out of them. Her wiry hair was a thinning silver grey, sticking straight up from her head. Occasionally a few strands would rope themselves together and shimmy around like a moving snake and Harry swore he heard one of the pointed, ropy strands hiss at him before unwinding into its natural lifeless state.

"Lost, are you?" she cackled. "I'll show you the way home."

Ugh, god. If this witch wasn't scaring the piss out of him, he would probably be laughing in an amused, morbid way because she looked exactly like the kind of witches that decorated the muggle Halloween holiday. Her cackle was eerie.

The buildings were as unwelcoming as ever, as he looked for a place to escape. The ever present shadows were converging on him, waiting near the doors and windows. Harry ran into a stall as moved steadily backwards, the witch watching him with a wide, knowing expression. The covered wagon was white, sitting on two front wheels where the back were small peg legs. Two long handles stuck straight out, similar to that of a wheelbarrow.

The cart was covered with a white and royal blue shade, and among the many shelves were strangely shaped bottles of all sizes, each holding a different potion, bubbling still as if it were on a burner. Some remained solid in color while others rotated from one color to the next; Harry caught a few which morphed into different _patterns_ , one had rainbow stripes while another was plaid, watermelon pink and light green, with lines of pale blue. A few of the bottles held lumps of... no. He refused to go there again. Harry was _not_ playing "name the ingredient" anymore.

A tall, skeletal man walked up behind him. "You want a good time? I'll show you the wonders you've never dreamed of. Potions and magic you've never seen before. Forbidden..."

He was at least nine feet, skeletal body, wearing a bone fitted black and white pinstripe suit. The buttoned up coat showed a white shirt with a neck ruffle. There was a tall, skinny, crooked top hat on his head (also remnant of _Alice in Wonderland_ ), with a small grinning pumpkin patch stitched neatly above the base, off to the side. The hat matched the suit perfectly.

A peeking ray of sunlight backed the man, and Harry noticed the crooked hat's shadow was standing _erect_. _Straight_.

The world fell away; puzzle pieces falling into an icky void until it was just him, the hat and the man. A spotlight shone down from the dark, and Harry saw that in place of the man's flesh, blood and musculature was a _grinning_ skeleton towering over him. The bony hand pointed to the top hat, and then its shadow lit up on a red brick wall. Where had the wall come from?

Harry stepped towards the shadow; it beckoned him to come closer, to _touch_ that small swirl of black mist forming at the very top and center of the hat's shadow. It was too tall to reach, so the shadow lowered itself, bending into a u-shape so Harry could touch it, could prick his finger on the token spindle emerging from the vortex and-

"Harry!" Draco pulled Harry's hand away, dragging him from a congregating group of grotesque and abhorrent people. Long, straggling fingers closed in on him, grasping for his body; fingering the gaps on his oversized latticed knit sweater, tugging on his hair and scraping his skin, looking for scraps.

Draco held Harry close to his chest. Backing up slowly, he wrapped an arm around Harry's shoulder, placing his hand directly over Harry's heart. A sign of bodily possession.

Harry saw Draco's wand, Hawthorn wood of a medium brown with a black base for gripping, pointed straight at the wretched folk clambering ever near, shuffling feet scraping over the old, broken stone road. The two in the back were hovering near the ground, stationary, _staring_. A sharp, stinging sensation formed in his mind as if small pointed sticks were poking around the edges of his brain. It hurt.

"You know who I am! So back off!" Draco yelled, for the second time that day. He was commanding and self-assured, his wand at the ready. "What do you think my father will do when he comes looking for me? Do you think your anonymity will protect you? Do you think you are safe?"

Harry winced as Draco's fingers began digging into his chest. Harry recognized the signs of trepidation and anxiety underneath Draco's haughty exterior.

The mish-mashed gathering retreated slowly, shrinking back as the clock ticked past. Tick. Tock. Tick. Some hesitated, indecisive before turning back, others disappearing into the walls of the narrow alley; melding and reforming into the walls, contorting the space into a vaporous fluidity until it reversed into solid brick and stone with mortar.

Draco glanced around every so often, not tearing his eyes away until each person walked, disappeared, melted or faded away.

For all the twists and turns Harry had taken to get here, Draco had walked them two blocks before passing through a second narrow alleyway, which split off into a fork. To the left, a familiar alleyway which entered back into town. Was that a cackle in the distance?

To the right, a set of steep and overlong stone steps, smooth and narrow, surrounded by the red brick walls of the alley. Big enough to squeeze through one person at a time.

The Hawthorn wand stayed to the fore. As they were backing up the first flight of steps, Harry saw shadows swirling in the dark, _slithering_ towards them.

 _"Come here; come here, to my lair."_  
_"A sssnack for me. A deliciousss sssnack."  
_ _"Ssstay away, ssstranger, from this place! Hurry, run!"_

The words were translated in his head. Strange slithering vowels twisting his mind like a wrung out towel. Behind his eyelids rose a giant, green python head almost as large as Harry's own. It's long, forked tongue slipped in and out, tasting the air.

_"Harry Potter! Ssso you have finally come back to usss. Welcome home."_

His mind became submerged with images, symbols and words of magic he couldn't understand. The black tattoo of a twisted snake with the head of a skull seared over his famed lightning bolt scar. Harry felt the branding, the red hot iron burning right through to his skull, marking bone; burnt flesh filled his nostrils. Then a single name. Female. _Nagini_.

Harry screamed.


	4. The Architecture of Our Identities

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry and Draco learn some important truths about each other. Also contains dubious owls and a fight over a wand.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Beta** : TheSupernova
> 
>  **Note #1** :  
> U.K. Chips = U.S. French Fries  
> U.K. Crisps = U.S. Potato Chips

“The true value of a human being is determined primarily by the measure and the sense in which he has attained liberation from the self.”

—Albert Einstein, " _Mein Weltbild_ _"_

* * *

_His mind became submerged with images, symbols and words of magic he couldn't understand. The black tattoo of a twisted snake with the head of a skull seared over his famed lightning bolt scar. Harry felt the branding, the red hot iron burning right through to his skull, marking bone; burnt flesh filled his nostrils._

_Harry screamed._

* * *

"Breathe, Harry," Draco said. Harry realized it was Draco's forehead against his skull. "Breathe with me; in, out. In, out."

Harry's heart rate slowed, the lightheadedness which had accompanied the burning sear on his skull was cooled off like hot iron in a bucket of cold water. Draco's thumbs were massaging his temples and the pain from earlier receded rapidly until all that was left was the sound of their warm, panting breaths in the air. No pain, no red-hot irons inside his head, just Draco's body so close to his own, that for the first time in his life, he felt safe outside the confines of his cupboard.

"Okay?" Draco asked. "You okay now?"

"Yeah. Thanks," Harry gave a partial smile, followed by a small shrug.

Draco stepped back, studying Harry closely. Whatever he found must have placated his curiosity because a small smile crept onto his lips. Before Harry could say anything he noticed a strange, black squiggle on in the middle of Draco's forehead, right where Harry knew his scar was.

"Draco..." He reached over, his thumb hesitating over the strange mark. "What's this?"

It hadn't been there before.

"Shit-" Draco swore, repressing a grunt of pain while batting away Harry's hand.

Draco simultaneously placed a hand over his right forearm, falling to his knees as he stifled another grunt. The black symbol was shifting, squiggling around like a snake; Harry heard a faint _hissing_ sound, so low that he wasn't entire sure the softening breeze hadn't just carried a muted whistling into his ear. The symbol faded with the wind.

Did Draco just initiate a transfer of pain? Draco released his forearm, pressing his hands to his temples, and bent so close to the ground Harry could have mistaken it for a bow, if it wasn't for Draco's body trying to shake it off, as if the pain were a tangible thing he could get rid of.

When Harry moved to closer, legs bending to kneel next to Draco's height, he was startled back by a sharp _"No!"_

"Stay back!" Draco barked, "Don't touch me!"

Harry stumbled back a few feet, before catching himself. He moved slightly closer, deciding to wait him out.

He looked around, casually taking in the surroundings; the area was a few feet out of the archway, a steep set of stairs leading down and back into the alley wayfrom which they had come. A small, rickety sign caught his eye: Knockturn Alley. Huh. He'd have to remember to acquire a map to this area of wizarding London for both future shopping reference and to avoid any further passages like this one.

To Harry's left was a long, dual lane (residential) street. Narrow two story houses on both sides of the road were squished together, all fenced in by groups of two. Each house had two doors: one leading to the basement (down a small set of stairs) and one to the ground floor (the "main" house). The garages were located towards the middle of the dual housing units (one for each house) and there were small yards on the outer sides of the driveway. Harry didn't see any mail boxes, but figured the post was instead dropped on their respective porches as he seriously doubted owls would take their time to open and close small mailbox doors (though that would have been quite amusing to see).

For each house, the upper and lower sections meant room for two separate residents or family units. It was an excellent space saver in crowed cities, although the shared yard and garage/storage space might cause some tension.

The nearby side streets led into the shopping district, as he could see the connecting streets full of people milling about. There were a few street stalls of the kind he had just been privy to in Knockturn Alley.

Off to the right was a large, round fountain that took up a good portion of the street, enclosed by open cylindrical walls the same make and ecru color as the archway. The walking space around the fountain was generous, leaving enough room for a few curved benches and some embedded flowers and small shrubs lining the inner walls between the benches.

The fountain itself was made of solid white marble and the flat topped almost two feet wide; another seating space if one so chose. The middle fountain column was wider at the base, thinning out as it drew up in a loose hourglass shape, and opening into a blossomed, flower petal spout. The layered, rounded tips of the petals let the water fall in wide streams, creating a unique umbrella effect spreading out two and a half feet from the rim. The soft streams of water created a smooth, lulling sound.

Harry sat on his haunches, studying Draco carefully. His body moved restlessly, but was slowly calming down. Harry wasn't about to tell Draco to do those deep in-out breathing exercises, since Draco was the one who mentioned them in the first place. It wasn't Harry's job to remind Draco of something he should have already known.

"Draco," Harry said, after a few minutes. "You okay now?"

Harry did decide to repeat that particular phrase, hoping to snap him out of whatever trance this pain had created.

"'m not going to sit here all day." Maybe that would help bring Draco back to him. It would either rile Draco up or come out as a logical conclusion (which it was).

"Mmm. Yeah, okay," Draco answered.

His slowly lowered his hands, and visibly took a few deep breaths of his own.

"Fuck though," Draco sat back onto the cobblestone, legs stretching out before him. "Fuck that hurt."

"Looked like it." Harry responded. He wasn't sure what else to say, because he wasn't much for placating gestures or words. Harry's family unit didn't talk to him that way, so it wasn't like he had much experience anyways.

Draco shook his head once more, and pulled his right sweater sleeve up to his elbow. His arm was bandaged from wrist to elbow, and a shallow red stain covered the entire forearm, getting darker by the second.

It surprised Harry so much that he fell back on his ass. He thought magic could cure everything; that wizards and witches were out there laughing at muggles because they were better then muggles in every way. Though Harry had no doubt the wizarding community took their advanced healing skills for granted, maybe they weren't as infallible he first thought and he said as much.

Draco huffed out a laugh. "Our magic doesn't make us omnipotent. We can't cure everything; there are many muggle conditions, physical or mental injuries, virus', diseases and cancers that we can't treat any better then you."

Draco paused, running his thumb absently over the blood-stained bandages, presumably lost in thought. They were entirely red this side of his arm and Harry was amazed the blood wasn't dripping out the sides. Harry tilted his head, and Draco took that as a cue for a more advanced explanation over their lack of medical omnipotence.

"So, I'm not an expert but injuries dealing with the spinal column, and certain brain conditions--like Alzheimer's or Parkinson's disease--we don't have some "magical potion" to cure that. Our treatments may occasionally be more affective in stopping or slowing the advancing symptoms, but not always.

"It's strange though, Harry, because we have potions for bone-regrowth. If you break or fracture a bone, or even if you lose your bones entirely, that potion can literally regrown them but it doesn't work on spinal cord injuries or SCI.

"I remember reading that when the potion was first created, they tried experimentations on those with SCI. They tried regrowing the segments and in theory, it sounds like it would work, you know? But it didn't, for some reason. The bone regrew into the exact same formation as it was before.

"You know we have spells that can temporarily let a person walk again, but mostly it’s treated with magically-enhanced wheelchairs combined with muggle physical-therapy and drugs or potions. Magic isn't the end-all, because even we have our limits. The medical field uses muggle techniques." Draco lifted up his bandaged arm.

"Our medical witches and wizards have gone through basic medical muggle _and_ wizarding schooling before they can actively practice. I mean, what happens if you can't use your magic, like if you lost your wand or don't have access to any potions? It's important to know CPR and how to use bandages and create tourniquets, understanding the human body. We're more connected with the muggle community than you might think. It's not something we think about very often though, but it's there if you care to look for it."

Harry puffed his chest out, grinning and more than slightly ostentatious about the whole thing. "So you're saying you need our _muggle_ advancements and treatments and cures, education. You can't live without muggles, can you?"

Draco laughed. "Hey, you know, just because you have magic, doesn't mean you're more intelligent or that it will affect your ability to create medical or scientific breakthroughs or whatever. Even Potion Masters confer with muggle scientists because muggle drugs and medications, that's equivalent to our potions. It may not seem like it, because we use totally different ingredients that produce effects muggles could never dream of, but you'd be surprised. The basics are the same.

"I can list off quite a few potions that have been created. There was a Potion Master who had been studying the effects of a muggle drug on the human body, the immune system I think, when she realized that she could create a potion to replicate its effects and further, the interaction of the chemicals sparked other ideas for how to enhance the effectiveness of a few other potions she was working on."

Harry was in slight disbelief that muggle drugs had _anything_ to do with magical potions, so Draco added to his point.

"Like, if you break down any plant, animal cell or mineral, magical or no, all carry certain base substances and properties. The _basics_ of how things work, even with magic, are basically the same, though there are a few exceptions. Electrons, proteins, acids, DNA or RNA, magic may alter the properties and reactions, but if you don't have a point of reference, then you don't know _what_ or _how_ magic will have changed those cells' behavior."

That made Harry feel slightly better about the magical community as a whole because they _needed_ muggles and that's not something Harry had ever thought possible. Maybe, just _maybe_ they weren't as different as he thought. And there was something else. Harry turned his attention to Draco's bandaged arm, which Draco was _still_ unconsciously rubbing with his thumb.

"Does it hurt?" Harry asked, motioning towards Draco's arm with a nod.

"Yeah," Draco stopped massaging it. "It's a magical injury I got when I was younger, although I don't remember when or how. My parents and our family's private doctor won't tell me anything. It will occasionally throb in pain, producing a sharp stinging sensation or bleed out unexpectedly; the wounds on my arm open and heal in cycle, appearing in different shapes or patterns each time. I eavesdropped when my parents were having a private conference with our doctor one day, and I heard something about dark magic."

Draco anticipated Harry's question and cut it off before he could ask. "Dark magic and light magic--dark magic is illegal and it's what all dark wizards and witches use, like the Dark Lord, the one who killed your parents. Voldemort."

As Harry processed this--and it was a lot of information to process--his stomach grumbled in protest. He decided to leave the soul-searching answers and questions about magic for later in favor of something more pressing.

"There's this cafe in Diagon Alley I wanted to try, I ran by it on my way out of the wand shoppe."

Harry's stomach grumbled loudly. "I smelled pastries and freshly baked bread. The cafe was packed, last I looked. There was even a sectioned off outdoor eating area with white round tables, matching white chairs and tall, maroon umbrellas. I saw a few people eating sandwiches and chips and was hoping I'd get a chance to try it."

Draco picked himself up off the ground, briefly brushing off the front and back of his trousers before holding a hand out to Harry. He took it. There was a second pause while Draco tapped his chin with his finger.

"Ah, I think I know which cafe you're talking about. There are three along the strip, but they are all very classy restaurants, renowned for their fresh and varied cuisines. The Classic Dog Puddle--that's the name of the cafe you want to try--handmakes their food, no magic involved. Well, the cooking and baking elements and plate arrangements are probably likely magical, but the food itself is not."

Harry wasn't quite certain about going to a restaurant with the word _dog puddle_ in its name, but these magical shoppes had oddball names as it was, and so long as none of the ingredients didn't actually come from _dog puddles_ Harry was willing to give it a go.

He looked around briefly, then back at Draco, thoughtful. "Hmm. You said you wanted to go on a date with me, and while I still think the entire idea is _laughable_ as is, in return you promised to protect me. So I don't mind calling this a date. Since it seems," Harry motioned towards the alley, giving it the stink eye. "I need it."

Draco tilted his head, expression unreadable; probably curiosity. Harry only held out a few more seconds before pointing his index finger towards Draco. "No sex. I'm not a whore, though I'm not averse to sleeping with you as long as it's only sleeping. Holding hands, hugging, light kisses; I'll reciprocate in kind, if I want. I don't know how I feel about it. The touching thing. So maybe that's-"

Draco bypassed his hand, pulling Harry in by his wrist, embracing Harry tightly in his arms. Harry fought the gesture for a moment, panicking because his unit had _never_ done this to him before. It was strange and unfamiliar.

"You deserve to be held," Draco said. "Your family never-"

"Unit."

" _Unit_ ," Draco corrected. "Did this for you."

Draco buried his head in the crook of Harry's neck, hot breath coming in puffs along Harry's skin. A tongue snaked out, causing the breath to momentarily chill his skin. Draco nuzzled against his black, slightly unruly hair a few times before resting his head back on Harry's shoulders. Arms secured Harry's body in place, and it was only when one of Draco's hands ran along the side of his head, threading through his hair when Harry's panicked feeling finally settled.

It didn't take long before Harry's body recognized the feelings of _comfort_ and _security_. The confines of Draco's arms told of cupboards and safety in enclosed spaces. Tension drained out of his body like the running water spouting out into the fountain base. It took Harry a few minutes to realize he was clinging desperately to Draco, a lifesaver thrown into the chaos; lifting him out, _saving him_. Again.

Harry's eyes began to water. He wanted more of this, this something that his unit forbade him. He was barely strong enough to control his emotions to prevent another meltdown, but it was a near thing.

"Yeah, thought so," Draco said smugly. "Touch starved, is what they call people like you. See? It's best treated through muggle techniques, no magic required."

Harry gave a noise of appreciation and a grunt of dissatisfaction. He really didn't want to do this with _everyone_ ; it made him shudder even thinking about it. 

"I'm not doing this with _everyone_." Harry emphasized. This felt too intimate for public sharing. Handshakes and light pats on the back were one thing, but hugging and kissing and _embraces_ like this were not to be used so casually.

"We can do that," Draco said, nuzzling in agreement.

Eventually Harry pushed back, taking a moment to right himself. He shook his head, clearing his mind. Harry held out his hand again, and this time Draco took it, guiding Harry out towards the cafe.

"I've only ever felt this secure in my cupboard at home, where I live. I want a place to feel secure, since not everyone sleeps in cupboards."

Again, Draco gave him the oddest look. What was it now? He was tired of playing the guessing game of ‘What Is Draco Feeling Now’.

"Tell me what you're feeling now; that look, I can't read it," Harry said, scrutinizing Draco's face. It screwed up into something else. Possibly curiosity or annoyance, but that was merely a hypothesis. He needed verbal confirmation.

Draco stopped, stepping off to the side along the border between the residential area and the shopping districts. A few people passed by them, and they could hear the pounding of pop rock music emitting from the house behind them. All the blinds were closed, but flashes of rainbow colored lights seeped out though the sides.

Harry tilted his head at Draco, waiting.

"You keep saying that," Draco said. "What does it mean? Why's is so important to know what I'm feeling?"

Harry paused, settling back against a low, sparse wooden fence. He ticked at his jeans for a bit, scratching at an imaginary piece of lint. This was something his family unit hadn't really talked about, but catered to Harry all the same.

"I suppose if we're going to do this, I can tell you. But it's a weakness, okay? You keep this between us if you can." Harry refused to look Draco in the eye, choosing instead to focus on Draco's expensive black leather shoes.

"I can't read facial expressions or body language very well." Harry looked around briefly, settling once on Draco's gaze before dropping back down. "I taught myself to read stereotypical facial and body language responses; anger, happiness, sadness, confusion, and a few others. I can also infer what that person might be feeling based on the situation, and together I can do pretty well."

"Harry," Draco said. "I-"

Harry ignored him. "I can learn to read people, to a reasonable degree, on a face by face basis. If I care to know you long enough, I can memorize your expressions and sort of extrapolate. It's like playing poker, you know?"

"Poker?"

"Ah. A card game where you are dealt a certain number of cards and different sets of cards are worth points. The goal is to bluff your way through, making people believe you have the best hand; each round you add money to pot and the winner gets the pot of money."

"Gotcha."

"So poker tells are certain facial expressions, body language or movements that a person makes when they are lying. Each person's tells are different. I do that with emotions. But it's stressful and hard to do. Took years to get a handle on my unit."

Draco stepped closer, startling Harry out of his reverie. "I get it. Some expressions are too subtle or complex, or expressing multiple emotions and body language doesn't always help."

He nodded; when Draco place a hand on Harry's shoulder, Harry couldn't help but push forward to lean his head on Draco's shoulder. "Every time I talk to a stranger, I won't know their tells so I don't know if what they are telling me is true. But if I know their motives, I can attempt to read their expressions in context and keep up within the conversation."

Harry felt Draco's hand ruffle through his hair. Draco chuckled. "Okay. I'll try to be less mysterious for you. Yeah?"

"Mmm," Harry agreed.

When Harry's stomach rumbled again, Draco full out laughed. "I'm starving too. Lets off to the Dog Puddle cafe."

* * *

**The Dog Puddle Cafe**

 

* * *

The Dog Puddle's special of the day was called the _Piddle Panini_ with a side of _Chocolate Coated Sweet Fries_ (which was wrong on so many levels) and served with _Lemonade_. For one, the smell of the chocolate fries made his stomach vomit a little in his throat, and the whole thing must have been some amusing gimmick. But considering he saw more than a few plates of the daily special scattered throughout the cafe, it was at the very least, edible.

The cafe had an odd, neoteric design, somewhat out-of-place for the timeworn atmosphere of Diagon Alley. Other than the exchange of wizarding money, it looked like an ordinary muggle restaurant. Harry couldn't see the kitchen, so he didn't know the processes and appliances used to keep the food fresh, and those involved in cooking, baking or frying. He did have a suspicion that it mainly involved old fashioned gas or wood burning stoves and ovens; wizarding kitchens were a magical mystery, so to speak, and for the foreseeable future, would remain so.

At home, lunch always consisted of one large sandwich (or two small ones), chips or crisps and water so he browsed the menu for something similar. The line was edging out the door, but was moving fast despite the numerous customers. Harry ended up settling for a sweet forest ham Panini on Ciabatta bread with all the works and extra Swiss cheese (he had a secret addiction to the fancy kind with holes), a small order of chips and a large sized soda cup (for water).

Draco had the club (three meat) Panini on artisan rye bread, with extra pastrami and onions, light mustard, a few dill pickles, a small side salad, a bowl of fruit, and two scoops of strawberry frozen yogurt ice cream (with fudge sauce). Harry had a distinct feeling that this wasn't Draco's first time visiting the Dog Puddle.

"The daily special isn't actually all that bad." Draco said, as he led them to one of the square white tables outside. Harry raised his eyebrow and gave Draco _the look_. While Harry had no doubt that the Piddle Panini was probably a half-way decent entrée, the _chocolate covered sweet fries_ was decidedly _not_ a thing.

After a few moments, Draco finally settled for: "It's an acquired taste."

Harry snorted but didn't argue further.

* * *

Draco led Harry to the Slug and Jiggers Apothecary for new bandages for his arm.

"To say that potion novices--first year students like us--well you, anyways, as some of us are inherently better than others." Draco said nonchalantly, ignoring Harry's minacious glare. "How many injuries and accidents do you think accompany this kind of practice? Muggle science, research and experimentation with chemicals, plants, compounds--even those experienced in the field sometimes experience injuries of some sort."

Harry scoffed. "Bandages and alcohol wipes? Muggle first aid equipment and supplies. What, magic potions or spell cure-alls not enough for you?"

"Our abilities are not omnipotent, Harry, as I said earlier." Draco chuckled. "While we do have cures and spells for injuries and sicknesses that cut the healing time in half--if not instantly—we have our limitations. I mentioned the bone regrowth potions earlier; it's an amazing potion to be sure, but it’s not instantaneous. It can take a few hours or a few days, depending on what's wrong. In the meantime, might as well bandage it up in a cast and sling to make sure the bones regrow properly."

He lifted his right arm, indicating the forearm. "And sometimes, there is no cure. Only temporary treatments. Muggles occasionally have it spot on, because nothing beats the simplicity of bandages to stem bleeding and protect wounds or injuries."

Explained that way, it made sense to have a section devoted to first aid supplies; in this case, mostly potions, bandages, novice to advanced medical supplies (muggle and magical) and storage containers (custom bags and boxes) on display in the far end of the store, in a corner shelf and small table setup.

The apothecary and the neighboring shoppe, Potage's Cauldron Shoppe, had been internally combined into one whole store. Harry could see the dividing line was set by the carpeting: the potions store had beige carpeting while the cauldron shoppe had a navy blue. One long counter with curved ends attached to the wall stretched from one side to the other.

Just like the potions display window, the various walls, shelves and tables were filled with more weeds, plants, animal parts, and different shaped bottles. Snapdragons in pots actually snapped at Harry, and the biggest yellow tulip-like flower head actually spit a wad of fire towards him, causing him to jump back, almost knocking Draco over. Draco just smirked, took Harry's hand and led him away from the "live" plant section.

There were leaves that growled, more bubbling vials (with no visible heat source), and among the section of books was one which Harry swore had blown him a raspberry behind his back.  

A door in the back had three wooden signs, one nailed to its front while the two others were dangling underneath, attached on either corner by small chains. He assumed they were more potion ingredients, because they said:

_"Live. Semi-live. Freshly Dead."_

Harry recoiled, running into Draco (again) who simply steered him away (with another goddamn smirk on his face). He gave a half-hearted glare towards the blonde before he shook it off.

Draco had picked up a small three-inch wide bandage roll, and a few packets of five-by-five inch alcohol pads. Harry followed him up to the cash register, located next to the dividing line and watched as Draco dumped the contents onto the counter. His mind slipped towards his surroundings as he waited for Draco to finish the transaction.

The cauldron shoppe mirrored in size to its neighbor and there were cauldrons in all sizes, from miniature, dollhouse, to that of a small dining table.

The dark wood shelves held the small to medium sized cauldrons, set in all sorts of colors: black, gold, silver, bronze and an advertised "New! Custom Color-Plated Cauldrons! For a limited time only, get your custom colors and designs at no extra cost!" and in smaller print, "Minimum purchase of two or more cauldrons."

"Come on," Draco said, tugging Harry towards the left.

Harry was led to the men’s room ( _"customers only!_ ") and set the purchases on the counter, next to the sink. Draco rucked up his sweater sleeve, exposing the blood red bandages. After a few seconds indecision, Harry batted away Draco's hands and stared untucking the ends, rolling the soiled bandages and dropping them into the sink. Blood from Draco's forearm dripped a few _ploinks_ into the sink, having seeped between cracks in the hardened blood.

"I can do it myself," Draco said defensively. "I've been doing this since-"

"So have I," Harry interrupted distractedly. "Let me."

Draco tilted his head; it looked like he was curious about something.

"I am curious," Draco said, confirming Harry's suspicions. "Why are you helping me? I didn't think you were the type to care about people you didn't know. I'm a _wizard_ Harry. You realize this?"

Harry just hmm'd in response, ignoring the fact that yes, Harry was (technically) a wizard too but Draco knew better then to point out that fact. Harry considered himself more muggle than wizard (at the moment). He had grown up muggle and hadn't yet accepted the idea he was anything more.

Draco grimaced as Harry began dabbing the washing cloth, soaked in warm water, and proceeded to clean the dried blood from the skin, and around the back of the arm. After, he dumped the cloth into the nearby bin, and swiped the pads over the area, even though there were no visible wounds. Upon closer inspection, Harry noticed a faint outline emerge, that of a tubular squiggle snaking lightly around Draco's forearm.

The lines rearranged themselves into a familiar python; the mouth opened and Harry heard more strange vocable hissing words. " _Harry._ "

"Fuck!" Harry knocked the rest of the alcohol pads into the sink and tripped over his feet in a mad scramble backwards. He hit the wall, and pressed back further when Draco attempted to step closer. He pressed his eyes shut.

"Get away from me!" Harry shouted. He covered his ears with his hands, shaking his head. Images of Nagini flashed in his mind again, taunting him. _Hissing_ at him.

It took a few minutes before Harry realized Draco was holding him again, running his fingers over Harry's spine; his other hand pressing lightly against the back of Harry's head.

"Sorry," Harry said, calming down and immediately pushed back against Draco's chest, untangling them.

Draco smiled sadly, shrugging.

"I know." Draco had pulled his sleeve down over the bare skin. "No one will tell me anything, but it has to be dark magic. I can _feel_ it. Occasionally this unformed shape will appear, like a drawing and it'll rearrange itself based on something you fear. It could be anything, and it'll be different each time. It'll show you images, flashes of things inside your head, things that scare you.

"I think it’s a nightmare curse or something. Dark magic is illegal, but our family library has a series of books. It could be a combination of things, but I couldn't find anything definite and my parents disapproved of me even looking. I think they're afraid of the truth."

Harry stared at Draco's sleeve. Harry had always believed _all_ wizards were dark, that nothing could be done to stop it, in the end; there was no use fighting the inevitable. But Draco was living with dark magic inside him and he was nothing like those living in Knockturn Alley.

"Keep fighting it, Draco. Don't turn dark like everyone else," Harry said while avoiding Draco's gaze. He took in a deep breath, let it out, and stepped closer, lifting Draco's sleeve. The arm was bare now, save for the few squiggly scratches that Harry refused to focus on for any length of time. He guided the arm towards the sink once more and started wrapping it with bandages.

"You won't turn dark, Harry. Not with me here." 

Harry smiled, but kept his gaze down. His expert hand guided the bandages around and finished the end with neat precision. Harry looked up, and handed Draco back the bandages, who placed it in his left pocket. It bulged out, creating a round tented space in the side of Draco's pants. Harry cleaned up, throwing the used and soiled items in the trash.

Back at the front counter, the clerk handed Draco a bag full of supplies, hidden inside a pewter cauldron.

"I told him you needed first-year supplies for Hogwarts. The list doesn't change year to year--not often, anyways." Draco told him, and gave Harry a small push towards the counter to pay for it.

"We'll pick it up later," Draco continued. "Just put it on hold for us."

The guy nodded, and Draco led them out towards the main thoroughfare. "Next up, the Owlery."

Harry scowled because magicalowls were _magical_ ; they'd already been through the lack of trustworthiness magical creatures possessed. Creatures were not people. Harry could admit he was starting to trust Draco but all non-Draco entities were forbiddingly evil. Draco smirked knowingly. Harry took a two second pause before he slipped his hand into Draco's anyways. The blonde didn't look back, but Harry swore the boy took on a self-assured swagger a few moments later.

Eeylops Owl Emporium smelled like owl and bird shit and the intermittent squawking, screeching and hooting was all serving to make him kinda jumpy.

Draco bumped his shoulder. "Magical owls are basically muggle owls, except these have an uncanny sense of direction--being mail carriers and all--and are comfortable flying in tight quarters with other owls. Muggle owls would never be able to flock around in close quarters, which is an occasional requirement for the post, obviously. Delivering large packages or post to a room full of people, and all that."

There were all types of owls; screech owls and snowy owls, brown and spotted ones and more he couldn't identify. The shoppe scattered the individual owl cages around the premises but Harry's eyes were drawn towards the back wall--or rather, the lack thereof. The back of the shoppe opened to giant darken cave, with round wall sconces placed strategically throughout, creating the visage of moonlight. The quiet, calming atmosphere simulated the nighttime, and the owl's natural setting.

Small recesses in the cave walls and the floor to ceiling trees were full of owls in owl sized holes. There were so many owls in the store that they were probably changed out every day so each owl had a chance to distress and cozy down in its natural habitat. The dim lighting was there so people had enough to see by, and to browse the (sleepier) owl selection if they wanted.

The remainder of the Owlery held rows upon rows of owl and bird-related merchandise. Heath care, food, sleeping accoutrements and decorations, cages and other various living quarters, toys and treats.

Draco slipped his hand from Harry's and motioned him towards the front counter.

"Harry," Draco said, and it took a few seconds for Harry to realize he wanted the snowy owl receipt.

Draco took it and handed it to the clerk. "I'm sure he's of fine quality but I'd like to check him out myself before we take him home."

"Of course," the female clerk said. She motioned them with her hand. "Follow me to the back. Your snowy owl is female, one year old and in perfect health."

They entered through the staff-only door off to the side, and were led to a hallway with evenly spaced doors on either side.

"These are the examination rooms.” She opened the door closest to them. "This one is currently free. If you'll wait here, I'll bring her out to you."

Harry followed Draco in, closing the door behind them. While Draco stood hovering around the metal examination table, Harry sat in one of the two plastic waiting chairs. A counter along the back wall held a full complement of drawers and cabinets, including a large metal sink on the countertop, just to the right of center. The table held a single drawer underneath.

The clerk brought in the owl a minute later, and said to just bring the owl out to the front when they were done. She gave a small bow with her head and closed the door upon exiting.

Draco set the bird cage down on the table and unlatched the door. A snowy owl hopped out onto the table, her little feet making tiny scritchy sounds across the metal surface. She took one look at Draco and pecked him defiantly when he moved his hands within beak range.

"Ouch!" He glared at the owl. She hooted back quietly, as if mocking him.

 _Oh good, they're getting off to a wonderful start._ Harry thought. _Not_.

Draco shook his hand out, his finger still stung. "Listen, bird. You've probably guessed I'm not your owner." He pointed to Harry. "He is. But _I'm_ the one who’s taking you home for the summer because Harry's parents will not appreciate an owl in the house."

"Time-share," Harry added. "Draco's right. I'm not allowed pets in the house; rather, they wouldn't appreciate it. He was being a little presumptuous about taking you home, but you'll be more comfortable."

The owl looked between them suspiciously, cooing indecisively for a moment, before hopping up onto Draco's arm and rubbing her head against Draco's. The owl gave a few approving hoots and a playful nip. Draco snorted and Harry just barely contained himself from laughing. Owl ownership determined, Draco proceeded to poke and prod, examining her closely. He lifted each wing to gently feel the bones and feathers.

"Good to go," Draco said a minute later. The owl cooed once more, nipping at Draco's hair affectionately before hopping back into her cage. "Does she have a name?"

"Nope." Harry still didn't entirely trust the thing and it would take a while before he was comfortable with her. "I'll just look in some of my textbooks; she probably wants a wizarding name. Bloody thing."

The owl hooted in response. She seemed to be a very calm, patient owl. Draco picked up the owl cage with his left hand, and rubbed his hand along Harry's arm.

"Come on. Let's get your Hogwarts trunk and you'll be ready to head off to the train station." Draco opened the door and turned to Harry, quirking a smile. Harry didn't return the smile, but allowed Draco to take his hand and lead him out to the front.

* * *

Draco set the owl off to the side and pointed to the shoppe.

"This is the luggage and travel shoppe," Draco said. It had two massive windows on either side of the double glass doors. Luggage and bags of all sorts and sizes lay on display. "If you need anything--trunks, backpacks, purses, luggage, or travel supplies of all sorts, such as toiletries, wallets, travel pillows, personal entertainment items, you'll find it here."

Harry looked at the display warily.

"Of course, some of these are muggle items," Draco continued. "We travel and communicate by floo--the fireplace. Don't ask," he said, before Harry could interrupt. "And by wand, it’s called apparating and disapparating. Like, instant "poof"! and you're there. But you know, we do have wizarding trains and buses and occasionally use muggle transportation, such as airplanes and those motor vehicles."

Draco pointed to a row of trunks, three per stack; they were lined up neatly across the entire store front. "Those are your Hogwarts trucks. The big one is for all your school supplies, books, and personal items, whatever. There is a slightly smaller truck inside it for your school uniforms and casual clothes. If you ask to have your clothing purchases delivered to Hogwarts, they'll appear in here. Including accessories like ties, socks, underwear--I'm sure you can see where I'm going with that."

He pulled Harry's wand out of his sleeve, absently handing it towards Harry as he gazed on at the store front. "The trunks are free for all students. Just take your wand, and point it at whatever trunk you want and it's yours. It can tell if you're a student or not."

Harry instinctively stepped back, and Draco saw him flinch from the corner of his eye. Draco turned around and sighed, dropping his wand hand. "Harry, it's not out to get you. It won't do anything unless you want it too so just take it and point, that's all you have to do. Then you can put it away and forget about it until we reach Hogwarts."

Hesitation was written all over Harry's features and Draco sighed again. "I'm getting impatient and annoyed. I promise you, what you’re about to do is perfectly safe. It's like a wizarding version of a muggle identification card, except we use our wands instead of those little plastic rectangular things."

His body was frozen stiff, as if the wand held him in some deadly trance, taunting him with all the death and destruction it could cause were he to wield it. His wand had a _twin brother_ and that freaked him the fuck out.

Apparently Draco had lost his patience entirely because even Harry could see the moment Draco's expression schooled into one of vehement anger.

All at once, the world had slowed down; he watched in slow motion as Draco slid Harry's wand into his sleeve, only to pull out the other. Draco tighten his grip on his own wand, breathed deeply, as if preparing himself.

Harry stepped back again, but it wasn't enough. The world spun back to real time when Draco snapped out, fisting Harry's loose knitted sweater in his hands and _threw_ him into the pile of trucks behind him. His upper back hit one of the pointed, metal corners and he couldn't help but cry out at the sharp stab of pain. Draco was quick, had crossed the few feet between them, pressing Harry further back. The stabbing pain increased as it dug deeply into his skin. Harry wouldn't be surprised if he found a bruise later.

Draco punched him in the face, but it was half-hearted at best; a warning. The tip of Draco's hawthorn wand pressed snugly into the middle, upper junction of his throat, just below the jaw line. It made swallowing a challenge, but Harry's breathing continued to remain even, as long as he breathed through his nose.

"You're just a stupid muggle, not even worth my time!" Draco growled, digging his wand in deeper. "I have the upper hand now, don't I?" Draco grinned. "And you can't do a fucking thing about it!"

He pulled Harry forward before slamming his body back deeper into the truck's edge. Harry couldn't stop the sharp yell from escaping his lips. The passing crowd looking at them, but other than a few curious glances, they didn't stop. Harry tried to speak, but the wand had been shoved so deeply into his upper throat that he could barely swallow.

"I'm a wizard!" Draco hissed. "I'm stronger, better, and more _powerful_ than you will ever be! So tell me, Harry, what can you do to stop me? If I fired a spell at you, what would you do? Could you throw an offensive spell back at me or use a shield spell to protect yourself?"

Harry shook his head, gasping for breath as he tried to speak. "I... I don't know."

Draco smirked. "That's right. You know _nothing_."

Draco flung Harry to the ground, and pointed his wand downwards before Harry had a chance to move.

"Don't move," Draco warned him. "You despise us? Fine. I'll accept that. But no one else at Hogwarts will share your _glorious_ opinion of us. That was sarcasm, it case you didn't get that. Do you honestly want to be laughed at, for your muggle ways and muggle games you'll _insist_ on playing? You're a joke. The Great Harry Potter!"

The moment Harry dropped his gaze, Draco immediately barked, "Look at me! You worthless coward!"

Harry glared back, but it did nothing to dissuade Draco. He was cornered, and there was nothing he could do.

"Better. Now, I could do _anything_ to you. Turn you into a frog or a teacup, make you dance and read your mind against your will. Hell, I could even erase your memories and control your body, make you _my puppet_!"

"Don't you dare!" Harry shouted. "Don't you fucking-"

"Then fucking stop me!" Draco yelled back. "Do it! Throw me back with a spell, shield yourself, block me from your mind! Oh wait, you don't have a wand. And your mind isn't _trained_ to resist invasion. Silly me. You're _helpless_ and always will be."

"Draco!"

"What? Do you disagree? Funny. I'm quite enjoying myself, seeing you _squirm_." Another cheeky grin. "So I _dare_ you to become the most powerful wizard of our time. Show me; show everyone that Harry Potter bows to no man! No creature of magic! Make them _fear_ you; make them _know_ that to cross your path means they will lose!

"You want to leave this magical world behind after Hogwarts? To live without a fear of magic that's been instilled in you since birth? Then become _stronger_ than every fucking one of us!" Draco lowered his wand. "To live free of magic means proving that nothing or no one will be able to stand in your way. You'll be able to live how you want, _do_ whatever you please if the whole of the wizarding community knows that there is _nothing_ they can do to stop you."

Draco switched wands, loosely gripping the tip of Harry's wand. He held out for Harry to take. "I'll always be here to protect you, Harry. I'm your bodyguard, your friend and your lover, eventually. You'll be able to protect yourself, but only as a last resort. But you'll be secure knowing that nothing will stop you, not even the Dark Lord."

Harry exhaled slowly. "Yeah, okay." Sitting up, he grabbed the hilt of his wand. "You really believe I can do it? Become that powerful a wizard?"

"Of course," Draco said, helping Harry up. "I'm a bit envious too."

Before Harry could even brush himself off, Draco enfolded him into an embrace. "God, I'm so sorry I had to do that to you."

Harry wrapped his arms around Draco in return, and laid his head upon Draco's shoulder. "I know. It's okay. I deserved it."

They stayed like that for a while, Draco running his fingers gently through Harry's hair. Eventually Harry stepped back, gave a short half smile and pointed his wand at one of the trunks. The tip glowed for a moment, and the truck responded with a prompt glow of its own.

"And it's yours now," Draco said.

He helped Harry place the trunk on the ground, and opened it, taking out the smaller truck inside. Instantaneously, all of Harry's school supplies filled the larger trunk, even the things he bought at the potion and cauldron shoppes. Harry quickly moved over to the smaller one, and raised the lid to find all his clothes neatly folded and organized. On top lay a complete uniform, ready to go.

"Not too bad, I guess. Having things organized like this."

Draco laughed. "Don't worry. It won't always organize your things like that, not if you don't want it to. The house elves at the school wash the clothes in your truck, so if it’s dirty, just stick in back in and close the lid. When you open it, everything will be clean again."

Harry nodded, looking around. "If we're done..."

Because Harry wanted a short break from all this magic business, and getting back to his unit's family car would to the trick.

"All right. Well, if you need-" Draco stopped mid-sentence when he heard a woman shout his name. "Oh, that's my mother. I have to go. Anyways, I'll see you on the Hogwarts express. I warn you, I'll be with my friends for the first portion of the trip, because I need to catch up and I don't want them gawking at you the entire time, you understand. I'll join you later."

"No problem," Harry said. "Just try and meet up with me before we reach Hogwarts station. Otherwise I'll be waiting for you on the platform."

Draco grinned. "I'll meet you long before that, Harry, trust me."

Harry could see the woman walking towards him, but before he could squirrel away, Draco snuck a quick kiss on Harry's cheek.

"Until later," Draco said. He tilted his head, did a funny look with his eyes that Harry assumed was meant to be seductive or alluring, before turning and striding back towards his mother.

Harry touched his cheek where Draco had kissed him. That looked like a fun emotional expression that he'd only ever seen his family unit perform with each other. Petunia and Vernon had a more passionate one, while with Dudley, it was tame. It felt _different_ somehow, though he couldn't pinpoint the reason why. It was a love-expression thing, that was for sure, but he'd also seen it used as both a greeting thing between friends. He shrugged it off for later. He'd analyze the connections between emotional attachments and relationships later.

The large trunk looked to fit in the boot of the car, but the small one and the birdcage would have to be loaded into the backseat. He had just been contemplating how to transport this thing from the shoppe to the car (because he didn't exactly have the strength to carry them the required distance and didn't fancy dragging the entire way) when a staff member opened the front door, and smiled at him.

"Tap your wand twice on the bottom of the truck and wheels will pop out the bottom."

"Thanks," Harry replied. He hesitantly tapped his wand on the truck and sure enough, small 360 degree rotating wheels popped into existence. The wheels looked like tiny all-terrain, heavy duty tires.

"The same goes for the smaller one." The male staff member walked over, holding out set of two long bungee cords. Harry took them. "Free with all student trunks, so you can secure them during transport."

Harry thanked the man again, watching briefly as he walked back into the store.

Now, Harry wasn't entirely sure how Draco hid his wand in his sleeve, because Harry's sleeves were so loose that they'd just slide right back out. He quickly gave up and placed it inside the smaller trunk in one of the long mesh pockets on the inner lid.

After securing the bungee cord around the trunks, picked up his bird and the trunk handle, he began his trek down Diagon Alley. Harry checked his back pocket, making sure the ticket was secure and set off for the Leaky Cauldron.

Next Stop: Platform 9-3/4, Hogwarts Express.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Note #2** : The Dog Puddle Cafe interior is based on the Graffiti Cafe (concept and design by Studio Mode) located in Varna, Bulgaria. I found the picture in a Google search.
> 
>  **Edits** : As of 9-10-15, I made small edits to the section where Draco is talking about the bandages on his arm. The blood was not supposed to be dripping out the sides of the bandages. Because honestly, if I had blood dripping down my arm like that, I wouldn't be stopping for a bite at the local cafe before changing my bandages (and I'm positive the cafe would be a touch upset if they had blood droplets trailing from the front counter leading all the way to a table in the outdoor seating area).


End file.
